


Reason to Live - Reason to Fight

by Nurzubesuch



Series: Reason [1]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Javert Survives, Assassination Plot(s), Blood and Violence, Gen, Government Conspiracy, Meant To Be, Mild Blood, My First Work in This Fandom, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-18
Updated: 2014-12-30
Packaged: 2018-02-26 04:48:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 86,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2638631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nurzubesuch/pseuds/Nurzubesuch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After being saved from suicide by a mysterious woman, Javert´s and Valjean´s lives get entangled yet again, becoming part of history against their will. Because there´s more behind the barricades than just some angry men. Sometimes things are not quite what they seem to be.</p><p> </p><p>Disclaimer: Of course this is not mine. Les Mis existed long before I was born, so how could I ever claim any of this?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Darkness

 

The shock in Javert´s heart was far too big, as he watched this man, this convict, the criminal that he´d hunted for all these years, walk away from him. One step, then two. Three. Farther and farther away from him, and he knew that soon he´d be gone, out of reach for his musket to shoot him, the way he´d promised him he´d do. 

He should. He had to. This man was a criminal. A wanted fugitive. It was Javert ´s duty, before God and men, to arrest this man. But in the end he just stood there and let him walk away. To bring this young man he had on his back to a hospital. Just like he´d brought this prostitute to a hospital, so many years ago. Back then, when he´d carried another name.

Always the do gooder, always the benefactor. Always on the run. So many times. So many times he´d proven himself a liar, a cheater, a criminal before the Lord. So many times he had evaded him, Javert. And now, now that he finally had him … he let him go. What on earth had gotten into him?

He stared down on the gun in his hand, and for a few heartbeats his fingers tried to hold onto it. But his fingers were weak, just as his heart, his entire soul. He had to be weak or he would have never let it come so far. The gun fell, just as his whole world was falling, and the hollow plop it made when it dropped into the dirt of the sewers, echoed strangely from the filthy walls all around him.

What had just happened? How had he gotten here? And why was everything so dark all around him?

Javert´s feet started to move, all on their own, carrying him away, like a sleepwalker trying to escape a dream that was too terrifying for words, too horrible to even name it. In this moment Javert, police inspector of Paris, felt a fear creeping in his heart, far worse than any fear for his life he might have felt, a day earlier at the battle of the barricades.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Jean Valjean, ex prisoner, life long fugitive, one time mayor and foster father of an orphaned child, had no idea how long he walked, this half dead boy on his back, and the assumption of the inspector still aiming his gun at him. But he walked, step after step, stumbling more than once. And at some point he just knew that Javert was gone. That the inspector was no longer behind him. No longer threatening to shoot him if he made only one more step. That he indeed had let him go. 

And maybe that was the greatest miracle of it all. Not that they´d both survived the battle at the barricades. Not that he´d managed it to carry Marius out, through the sewers for a whole day. Not that he was still able to walk and carry this boy. But the fact that this uncompromising man with a heart of stone, the man that had dedicated his life to find him and bring him back to jail, had finally seen that there was more to life than law and duty. That saving this one man, the way Valjean was trying it now, was worth to make some compromises. To sacrifice some things in life. Like a rigid view of things such as life and duty. Like a daughter that finally choose to give her love to another man. A boy, half dead, gone soon if he wasn´t fast enough.

He had no idea how he made it to the boy´s home, the mansion of his grandfather. The baron surely would be asleep – if he´d found any sleep at all since those battles had started – but Valjean saw lights so at least some servants had to be awake. And sure enough when he knocked, a man and a woman opened, eyes wide when they saw him. He must look like a monster to them, covered in dirt and filth from top till bottom, the unconscious boy over his shoulder, his eyes probably burning like fire. In this moment Jean Valjean probably looked more like the prisoner he once was, than ever. 

“Please.” he gasped, sliding the boy off his back. “It´s the baron´s grandson. He needs help. Quick.”

For a moment the two servants were uncertain, looking at him as if he´d talked another language. But then the man knelt down, inspecting the boy, finally recognizing him.

“It´s Marius.” he cried, as if Valjean hadn´t already told them. “Dear god, go and call for a doctor.”

The woman was gone instantly, probably glad to get away from this stinking old man that had delivered the half dead grandson of their master. Some more servants came, to help and carry Marius inside. And for a moment Valjean felt the urge to follow. To sit down and rest, only for a moment. 

But he knew that if he did this, he would fall asleep and not wake up before the morning. And the way he looked and smelled right now, he wouldn´t want to do this to these people. Besides, the way they glanced at him, with so much fear, disregarding the fact that he´d just brought and saved the baron´s grandson, he felt that coming inside was nothing they would lightly offer.

And so he didn´t say a word, didn´t even try to speak, and turned around, to walk away. He needed to get home. His own home. Before he´d have to leave it forever. Surely Javert wouldn´t wait too long to come and get him at last.

~~~~~~~~~~~

It was dark. Still. It wouldn´t get better. Javert could not remember how long it had been since he´d broken his oath, and let the criminal go. Since he´d last seen him, walking away, and he´d done nothing. Since he´d been confronted with his own weakness and incapability to keep up his integrity. There was a law and the law spoke truth. Always. 

There was a man and this man had broken the law. Repeatedly. The law was speaking its sentence. Punishment. It was the only way. But the man was different. So different from what Javert had known all his life. 

He was a criminal. But he was not bad. He´d seen him save people, again and again, he´d seen him make sacrifices, he´d seen him show kindness and even … mercy. He´d saved his life. Spared it when everyone else would have killed him, to be finally rid of this danger that Javert was. Even more, he´d offered him himself. To surrender. Had given him his address. To what? Come there and arrest him, after he´d altruistically saved this young man, after he´d saved him, Javert? 

He was a criminal, a fugitive. How could a criminal be good like this? It didn´t work. It couldn´t be. And still it was. Javert could not compute. Not anymore. 

His soul was torn, from the inside, his whole life as he had known it. Could things like that be true? It couldn´t. It mustn´t. None of this made sense. The simple truth of that was more than shattering. It was devastating.

He had no idea how he´d gotten to this point. But now, that he was standing here, on the Pont-au-Change, the water gushing beneath him, he tried to look up, to the stars, to ask, beg for some kind of relief. Some reassurance, that some things were still the same as they had been before this day. 

But the stars were black, heavy clouds covering them, and nothing on earth or heaven was left for him to turn to. In this moment the darkness of the depth before him seemed so inviting, it was almost tearing him apart.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Staying awake was the hardest thing in the world, even while he undressed, peeling out of these dirty clothes, hard by now from all the filth. Even while he washed and dressed again. He managed it to make himself a bread to eat, before he would go out again. Somehow he managed all this without waking Cosette. She should not see what he had been through. And she should not wake up from the inspector knocking down their door, when he came at last to take him in.

That was the only thing that kept him going. That kept him from falling into his bed and sleep till morning. His daughter should not have to see how he got arrested, dragged out of their home in the middle of the night. There would be no way around of her learning about his past, now that Javert knew his home, now that he had promised him to surrender. But at least Cosette wouldn´t have to witness him being dragged out into the night. At least he would have the chance to tell her when it was light, in a calm tone, that could at least create the illusion that everything could be all right again.

After an hour of struggling against his own tiredness, Jean Valjean felt as if he was able to keep going. He stepped out into the night, and started walking. He made his way, not too fast but steadily, through the streets, toward the station of police. The one he knew was in Javert´s precinct.

Most likely the inspector was already waiting there for him. Impatiently, as always.

Jean Valjean chuckled. Maybe it was good this way. He´d been running for so long, lived under false names, not even his own daughter knew who he really was. Maybe it was time to stop all this. He was tired of running. And the fact that it should be Javert, from all the people in the world, his old warden from prison days, that should arrest him at last, was somehow poetic. Maybe there were things in this world that were just meant to be.

Surely he would wait for him, right at the door. The chains already in hand, ready to put them on him. Yes, Valjean could see that clear as daylight.  
The more surprised was he to learn that Javert was not there, when he reached the precinct. Only a young man was there, a sergeant, sitting behind a desk. He barely looked up when Valjean entered.

“Pardoner moi, Monsieur.” Valjean spoke carefully. “I … I am looking for inspector Javert. He should be expecting me.”

The young man only looked at him, strangely and shook his head. “Javert won´t be expecting anyone anymore.” he said. “At least not here.”

For a moment Valjean was just startled. “Why that?”

“He resigned.” was the brief impersonal answer. “Only an hour ago.” 

Valjean was shocked, so much he barely heard the next question of the man before him.

“Can anyone else help you with your concern?”

The former convict looked up, startled, and shook his head. “No, I …” he had to clear his throat.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. It was only … between me and the inspector.” Valjean quickly bowed his head at the man. “Thank you.” 

With that he left. But when his feet touched the ground before the door, he instantly froze. What had just happened? Javert resigned? How strange of an idea. How? Why should he do that? He´d always been so dedicated. And now that he finally had the chance to arrest him … 

Valjean started walking again, not really noticing that he was moving at all. And not really paying attention to where his steps might lead him. His whole mind was clouded with this shock. The shock that maybe, he would be free after all.

~~~~~~~~~

Javert had no idea how long he´d been standing there, on this parapet, his mind swirling back and forth between right and wrong, between what could be and what could not. Must not. There was no solution. The two extremes annihilated each other inside his mind, to a point of self destruct. And by now the inspector felt dizzy. So unbelievable weak. And desperate. He´d known right from wrong all his life. And now? He couldn´t do it. Not like this. Not anymore. Please, he begged in silence. Just let it end. I can´t … 

A gasp, so faint he barely heard it over the roar of the water, and then someone cried out.

“No.” 

Hurried steps approached him, and he swirled around, more by instinct, to look over his shoulder. The young woman stopped dead in her tracks as his eyes fell upon her. She was dressed in simple clothing, old and used. In her hand she was carrying a basket, one that she clutched now, as her gaze showed great fear. As if she was staring at a monster.

Only she´d run towards this monster, not away from it.

Her gaze changed, from worry to confusion, probably on purpose, and the next thing Javert saw was her glancing at him, as if she wasn´t sure what she was seeing. As if it was not all that uncommon to see a man standing on a parapet in the middle of the night.

“W … What are you doing?” she asked as if she really didn´t know. But then she waved her hand for him, because of course she knew. “C … Come down there.” she told him. “Seriously. You … you don´t have to do this.”

Javert shook his head as if to get rid of an irritating thought. Her unexpected entrance had distracted him, only for a moment. 

“Leave me alone.” he told her and she halted, as if unsure. Her eyes blinked several times as she tried to collect herself. 

“What´s your name?” she asked him.

When he glanced at her she narrowed her eyes. “No, wait I … I know you. You´re this inspector. Ch … Chever? You´re a police officer.”

Javert felt a stitch of pain in his chest at her words. “I used to be.”

He could see in her face that she was startled by the tone he´d used. But that didn´t keep her from continuing.

“All right.” she said. “Listen. I have no idea what happened, and why you think that this …” She pointed at the void. “… is the only way out but … I assure you there is another way.” As she looked at him expectantly, a chuckle escaped her. As if she tried to beg him, to finally throw the punchline of this strange joke. But a joke it had to be. Right, Monsieur?

“You have no idea what you´re talking about, woman.”

Her nervous smile vanished, as if he´d just hurt her with his words. But why on earth should he apologize for that? He was about to die for worse sins than that.

The young woman cast down her eyes, only for a moment, before she looked up again, a tiny smile in her eyes yet again.

“Says the one that´s standing on a bridge´s parapet.” she replied, as if there was nothing more silly in this world than this. Javert felt his heart boil with heat.

“Just leave me.”

“No.” she stated and this time her tone was strong. “I can´t.”

“Then I hope you´re ready to watch.”

“Wait!” 

Her cry made him flinch, only for a moment, and he managed it just in time to keep his balance. 

“In God´s name. Man.” 

Again she made him flinch, at the name of God this time. 

“Get back down here.” she cried, more desperate now. “Things are not as bad as they might seem.”

Javert couldn´t believe it himself but he actually chuckled. “How do you want to know?”

“I just know.” she told him, her eyes as fiery as he only knew it from soldiers. And some revolting boys he´d met not that long ago. “I know.” she repeated, more emphasizing, seeing the change in his gaze. “It´s always that way.” And she closed her eyes for a moment, to calm herself. “I … know … things probably seem … devastating right now. It sure does or you wouldn´t be here. But you know …” And at this she laughed all the sudden, nervously, looking about as if she had no idea where she was anymore. “What time is it anyway?” she asked. “Way past midnight, definitely. Wouldn´t you say so?”

Javert frowned, irritated by this change of subject. Her gaze had changed from desperate to something gentler. And her smile, it was so warm.

“It´s way too late for something like that.” she told him.

God, her smile. It was so irritatingly sweet.

“You know …” she started again. “Some really smart men – scholars – they say … that one really shouldn´t make life altering decisions at an ungodly hour like this. Because at this hour the mind swirls towards the darkness, so much more than it does in daylight. It´s the devil´s way of trying to lure us into his realm. You mustn´t fall for this, inspector.”  
Her eyes were open, so open, that Javert had no chance to avoid this gaze. No matter how hard he wanted to try. Instead he found himself frozen to that gaze, as if she´d put a spell on him that kept him from looking away.

“Who are you?” he asked, and she actually smiled, once again this sweet smile that irritated him so much.

“My name is Marianne.” she introduced herself. “Marianne Póche.” And with a smile she reaching out a hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Javert only frowned warily at her hand. As if it was a snake that could bite him if he came too close.

“Please.” she spoke. “Just come down there. Things will get better, you´ll see. In the morning, when it is light again.”

And those were the words that brought it all back to him. The desperation, the impossibility of it all, the darkness of the world. 

“There is no light.” he let her in on this little secret. “Not anymore.”

“Yes, there is.” she insisted. “It will be. You´ll see. But only when you get down here.” He could hear her voice break with fear. “Please.” she almost sobbed. “Every night ends. How can you see the light again, if you don´t wait for the dawn? Don´t take this chance away from you.” She was audibly fighting her tears now. And something about this made Javert falter in his decision to jump. “Please.” she begged. “Don´t make me go home, knowing that I failed you.”

Those last words of her finally stroke him, deep inside, on a place he couldn´t quite name himself. But it made him turn around to her. Mostly because it scared him, so much, to feel how much she´d just hit him.

She smiled at him, still so scared herself, and waved her hand, asking, begging him. “Please. You´re still needed, inspector. Please.”

For a moment, how long exactly Javert didn´t know himself, she´d started to convince him. But there was something about this last sentence that made him wary once again. Still needed? He?

“How do you want to know?” he asked, and even he was scared by the weak tone of his voice. How broken he sounded, even to himself.

But to her it seemed to inspire new hope.

“I´ll prove it to you.” she promised and not even his wary gaze could make her new gained confidence tremble. She waved her hand, invitingly, almost nonchalantly. “Come.” she said. “Just … take a step in my direction. It´s not that hard.” 

Javert could only shake his head, at this predicament. “How is it that you saints always find me?”

It was almost a relief to see her frown, in uncertainty. 

“I´m … not a saint.” she stammered. “I´m just … someone that can´t just walk away.”

This time when their gazes met, they caught and held at last. She was begging him with her eyes. “Please, just … come down here. Please.”

Javert didn´t know what to do. Her pleads were just so urgent, so calling, it was hard to ignore her. On the other hand, it was probably hard to ignore anyone who disturbed the quiet when one tried to kill himself in peace. He looked down into the water, trying to think, to reconsider.

“Inspector!” she cried out, demanding, as if she was an officer who berated an inferior. And somehow that tone worked.

He looked back at her, and his turn about was just a little too fast. His foot already just at the edge of the parapet slipped, just a bit, but it was enough to make him sway, losing his balance. Instinctively he tried to regain it, but he failed. The void seemed to reach for him, not willing to give up its prey. 

Marianne cried out and jumped forward, grabbing his hand out of the air. One quick pull and he slipped, down to her, to saver ground. 

His momentum was too fast, it made her sway as well, along with him. Her hands reached out, to search for grip, steadying her balance on his body, until at last they both stopped swaying. Her exhale was so full of relieve, the grip of her hands too tight, he almost felt like being robbed. As if she´d just taken the greatest chance of his life away from him, in a totally selfish manner. And as their gazes met again, she of course could see all this.

There was a time, when men had flinched under his stare. When women had crouched and grown men had started to cry when he had looked at them like this. But this woman, only looked at him, so calm, as if she knew everything. Absolutely everything.

“Wait until morning.” she spoke, collected. “Please. Just … a few more hours. You´ll see it looks better then.”

Javert shook his head, fuming inside. But he managed it to hold it back. Yelling at her now would do no good.

“Please.” her honest plead made him suppress his anger.

“Why do you even care?” he rasped. “For all I care I would have arrested you with no mercy at all, had I ever caught you doing something against the law.”

His words as vicious as they had been meant, brought a smirk to her lips. “Well, then I am glad you never did catch me at this.” she stated. “Cause had I been in prison … I couldn´t have caught you just now. Could I?” 

He didn´t answer but she didn´t seem to expect a response anyway. She just kept smiling, this irritating smile of hers, and pointed with her head. “Come with me.” she said.  
Javert narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

She only shrugged. “It´s late. And I still have some way to go.” she raised her elbow, strangely inviting him. “Walk me, would you? For protection?”

Javert snorted, but when she turned around, to pick up her basked, where she had dropped it earlier, there was something strange about the gesture, something that kept him from declining. She didn´t move away, only looked at him over her shoulder, waiting for him to join her. And eventually, for a reason that evaded him completely, he found himself taking her arm, at last, and started walking, when she did.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I will be thankful for every note that tells me what you people think. There is still a lot more to come.  
Until then I say thanks for reading.


	2. To Stay Alive

 

The sound of their footsteps echoed in the empty streets, of the nightly Paris. Javert had no idea how long they´d been walking like that but he´d long abandoned the try to scold himself an idiot. Why he´d allowed this woman to distract him was beyond him, but somehow it had happened. And instead of drifting away into the nothing, he was forced to keep walking, and circling around his own thoughts over and over again. Why? Why did she have to do that to him?

“I was with a friend of mine.” she started speaking, all the sudden, almost nonchalantly, and Javert flinched at the unexpected sound of her voice. She didn´t seem to notice. “We forgot the time, talking.” she told him and shook her head. “This revolt just wouldn´t let us go. Horrible, wasn´t it?”

Javert couldn´t turn his head to look at her. “Yeah.” was all he managed, hollow and impersonal. And even though he didn´t look at her, he felt her eyes on him.

“You were there, weren´t you?” It was not a question. “I know. I´ve seen it in your eyes.”

Something inside of him broke apart at this, and she did nothing but nod. “It´s all right, Chevert. It wasn´t your fault.”

The way she said it, it almost sounded as if she knew, without a doubt, that this was true.

The former inspector swallowed. “The name´s Javert.” he told her, lacking any other response.

When she looked up at him, there was a sheepish smile on her lips. “I´m sorry.” she said, correcting her mistake. “Javert.” After that she halted, very briefly. “You have a first name?” She asked. He merely looked down on her, not giving a response. What difference would it make anyway? This was just ridiculous. He wouldn´t do this.

She just shrugged, not offended at all. “I guess Javert will do.” 

They walked another street, finally reaching a small house. She unlocked what was obviously the back door, revealing a small sitting room, complete with a stove and a sink. A very humble arrangement, just as one expected it from a woman of her rank.

She gently ushered him inside, not really leaving him a choice if he wanted to enter or not, telling him that she would make some tea.

While she busied herself in the tiny corner that was her kitchen, Javert´s feet automatically carried him to the table, to the chair. His tiredness probably had gained an own will over his body and mind and when he sat down, he felt the tension of these last two days in every muscle of his legs, his back, his entire torso. And oh god in his head. He only noticed how tired he really was, when there was suddenly a steaming cup before him.

“Drink.” Marianne told him, gently but firm. “You´ll need it.”

Javert regarded her, as she sat down beside him, a cup of her own in hand, carefully sipping, as if she expected him to do the same. And in his lack of any other option, he took the tea, for no other reason than to fill this awkward silence with something, even sipping tea was better than staring.

“Tell me what you know.” he demanded after he´d set his cup down, the heat of the tea warming his brain almost too much, and for some reason this sentence brought a smirk to her lips. As if she had to bite back some sarcastic joke that was obviously waiting behind her closed lips. But his blank gaze told her, clearly, that this was not the time for jokes. 

“I know … that there is always a way.” she spoke, carefully, as if to make sure, he´d understand her. “That even though you feel as if the world comes crushing down on you … and everything you believed in, is gone and wiped out … even if you think you have no right or reason to keep living … there´s always a way.”

“What way?”

She held his gaze, so open and fearless, even though he must look like a walking corpse. “That depends on you. I can´t tell you which way will be yours, for it is yours not mine. But I know that there is a way. You just need to be ready to find it.”

Javert lowered his eyes, staring into an empty distance that wasn´t even there. “What if I can´t?” he heard himself ask.

And after a long time of silence, that felt like an eternity, she told him, very gentle: “You can. You´re strong. I can see that in your face. In the way you carry this uniform. Even now. You are a soldier. And a soldier fights. He keeps fighting no matter what. Isn´t that right, inspector?”

Javert flinched inwardly, once again. “Stop calling me that. I´m not an inspector anymore.”

As he looked at her, she seemed startled, for the first time since they´d met. She frowned, uncertain, and closed her eyes, momentarily. 

“I know, I won´t convince you about this, just like this.” she spoke, quietly, her voice so faint it was almost only a whisper. “But you will keep doing your duty. Just as you always did. What happened, happened. No one can change that anymore. But just giving up, is not a solution.” 

Javert looked up, seeing how her eyes were not on him, but in the same distance he´d been gazing at before. And he realized, with dread, that she was barely talking to him any longer, but to herself. As if she´d been repeating this to herself more than just once. Like a mantra someone would repeat, over and over again, to keep himself from forgetting.  
When she noticed what she was doing, she chuckled, shaking her head, in amusement over herself.

“I tell you something.” she then said, and there was something so grave in her voice, behind that smiling face, that he couldn´t tear his eyes away, even if he´d tried. She said: “Sometimes staying alive and keeping up the fight is the braver decision, inspector. It takes a lot more. A lot more … than to just shut down and die. Believe me I know.”

Javert was speechless. What he saw in this woman´s eyes was breathtaking. A void much more horrible than the one she´d guided him away from.

“You …” he started but couldn´t finish. “You too w…”

“Do you believe in God, Monsieur?” she asked, before he could finish and he nodded, startled.

“And in fate?” This time she didn´t wait for his response. “I do.” she told him. “I do believe that noting happens without a reason. And … the fact that I happened to pass that bridge … just when you were about to jump … that can´t be coincidence. I think God might still have something in store for you. I think you are not supposed to go just yet. Whatever you think you did wrong, you can make it right again.”

Javert felt how the poison crept back into his heart, slowly, like acid. “I let a convict go.” he spoke, almost snarled. “I let him run. I failed my duty. I failed to protect the people I once swore to serve. I failed to stop the bloodshed. The lives I wanted to save, were lost.” he shook his head. “Too many. And my own life … I owe to a man that should be the guilty. But in the end everything was false. Everything went wrong. Things like that are not supposed to be. It isn´t right.”

When she didn´t give a response he couldn´t stand this silence any longer, and searched her gaze. For a moment the quietness around him started to feel like an eternal emptiness, somewhere between this world and hell itself. He needed to make sure she was still there, that he was not the only human being left in this entire emptiness of the universe. But when he looked up, she was right there, still so calm, so easy in her sensuality, still smiling so gently.

“The world changes all the time, Javert.” she said. “We might not always like it but it does. And we have to change with it.” 

He didn´t respond. He couldn´t. So she kept talking.

“There´s a lot of evil in this world. I know. But there is also good. And neither is easily recognized. What we think is right, seems wrong when the light shines on it from another angle.”

He could see something glisten in her eyes, and he realized with fear that she was close to tears. Not for him. For herself. Because she really knew.

“I know.” she spoke again, and shook her head, to pull it back. Her tears vanished, right back into her eyes, where they had come from. “But it isn´t the end.” she stated, her voice much harder now. “It mustn´t be. We mustn´t give in to this kind of hate and devastation. We have to fight. In order to stay alive.” She pointed at her heart. “In here.” She pointed at her head. “And here.”

Javert felt his heart race, in fear. How? How could she know all this? How could she see into his heart, where he hadn´t known how to see in all those years? 

“Who are you?” he asked her once again and once again she smiled at him, so gently, like an angel.

“Just a friend.” she spoke. “Who wants to help.”

Javert just looked at her, and like a shadow that passed over him, his mind got foggy, clouding his surroundings, his entire world. She smiled a little more.

“You look tired.” And with a gesture behind herself: “I have a bed for you. I think you need it more than I.”

He tried to fight it for an instant, wary once again. But her eyes were just too kind to be suspicious. 

She nodded at him. “It´s all right.” When she got up, waving for him to follow, Javert shook his head.

“I won´t …”

But she would not even let him finish.

“Yes, you will. I insist.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Papa!” Cosette´s voice, usually so soft and gentle, shrieked in his head, when she woke him up with her relieved cry.

Jean Valjean´s eyes shot open, and all he could think was: Where am I? Am I still at the barricades? Did they wound me and left me for death? Did Cosette come and find me, barely alive anymore? 

But then something dropped beside him, making the cushions of his bed bop up for a moment, and he just knew that he was at home. The memory came back to him, and so did the pain, all over his body. Oh dear God.

“Papa, I was so worried.” Cosette cried next to him. “Where have you been? You were gone for over a day, with no word, no note to tell me where you´d gone or when you´d be back. I heard of the fights. I was worried sick.”

“Ah, Cosette.” he managed, padding her hands, examining him with all the care and worry he loved so much about her. “Don´t you worry about me. You know me. I just … needed to get out.”

“Out? For over a day? Papa, what is the matter? You were so urgent to leave for England and now … you disappear for a whole day … I don´t understand.”

“Cosette.” he managed a smile, while another memory came home to him. England. Yes, that had been his plan. Almost a lifetime ago. “Give me some time to get up, and … feed myself. Then we can talk.”

For a moment, she looked as if she wanted to object. The expression in her eyes was so hard, he´d barely seen her like this. It almost scared him, to see his daughter, the light of his life, capable of such an expression. But then she cast her eyes down, and got up, to allow him some more space.

“I´ll tell Madame Toussaint to arrange some breakfast for us.” she said, and for a moment her eyes remained on him, debating with herself if she really should let him have his way. In the end she left without another word, and Jean Valjean, not known by that name by his own daughter, closed his eyes, burying his face in his hands. God, he was so tired. 

~~~~~~~~~

Javert woke up, to the sounds of the kitchen. For a moment he was confused, disoriented. Where was he? Was he at home? This was not his bedroom. And there shouldn´t be any sounds coming from his kitchen. 

He sat up, taking in his surroundings, and slowly, it all came back to him. The night before. The barricades. Jean Valjean. The Seine gushing beneath him, like a hungry animal. Marianne. 

His gaze found the door, and with some effort he managed it to stand up, every muscle in his body moaning in pain. He was still wearing his uniform. He hadn´t had the strength to undress, when he´d dropped into this bed, that belonged to a strange woman. A woman he´d never seen or even heard of before last night. And still, she´d stopped on her way home, through empty and dark streets, with no protection from possible muggers or rapers, to help him and save his life. Why? Why would she do that?

When he left the bedroom, entering the kitchen, she looked up at him, smiling.

“Morning.” she greeted, heartily. “How do you feel?” Without waiting for his response, she put down two plates, with bread and butter. “I bet you´re hungry.”

Javert sat down, watching her carefully, how she arranged the rest of this spare but generous enough breakfast. There was nothing in her gestures that seemed in any way off, or unnatural. As if it was normal for her to have a strange guest like him, sleeping in her bed. Like a stone.

“Did you drug me with something?” he asked, recalling how fast he´d blacked out last night, and she glanced at him, smiling apologetically. 

“I gave you something so you could sleep.” she admitted, and he surprised himself when he didn´t even feel angry about this revelation. “It was barely necessary though.” she told him then. “You were so exhausted …” After another moment she added, as if it was necessary to mention that: “I didn´t take your wallet.”

Javert raised his brows, astound. “I didn´t carry one.” he stated and she smiled, almost proud.

“See?” She pushed the plate towards him. “Eat. Physical strength is crucial after a traumatic experience.”

Again he looked up at her. “Are you a doctor?”

“My father was pharmacist.” she nodded. “In his second job. His first job was Official Hobby Doctor to everyone in the neighborhood.” She gave a small chuckle. “I took over the pharmacy.” She finished, pouring some coffee, one cup for him and one for herself. “Eat.” she repeated, more emphasizing and got started on her own bread. 

The healthy smell of the bread and the coffee suddenly brought back some memory of life, and Javert felt, strangely, how his mouth started to water. His first few hesitant bites became bigger soon, his body claiming the food to revive itself. It was strange. So strange after what he´d tried to do last night. After he was finished, she seemed to be satisfied with him. 

Before he knew what was happening she´d started to clean off the table, busying herself at the sink.

“I need to open the pharmacy.” she told him, only a minute later, and Javert woke up.

“I´ll leave.” he murmured, hurriedly getting up.

“I didn´t say you have to.” Marianne abandoned her sink. “I just …”

But this time it was him who wouldn´t let her finish. “I must.” he insisted, trying to avoid her gaze. “It would be inappropriate to stay even longer.”

Another one of her famous smiles spread on her lips. “How much more inappropriate can you get?” she asked. “You already slept here.”

Something inside Javert tensed at her comment. He wouldn´t quite call it blushing but if he was honest he just knew no other word for it. 

She pulled it back, noticing how uncomfortable he was. “I´m sorry.” she apologized. “I just … didn´t want to throw you out. If that is how it felt.”

“It didn´t.” he assured her. “How could it?”

It was the only way he knew to say what he really wanted to say. A thank you was so far away from his character and personality, he couldn´t even remember to ever having spoken such words. But somehow she seemed to hear them anyway.

“I´ll pay you for the food.” he promised, reaching for the door.

“You could stop by in the evening.” she hurried to suggest. “It´s no big difference to pay for a breakfast or for breakfast and a dinner all in one.”

Javert halted, regarding her face, so hopeful, so scared yet again, as if he saw her again on that bridge only last night. Too many emotions mixed in one face. Hope, fear, worry, begging for a sign of life. And all of this was directed at him. The former inspector had no idea what to do with this.

Eventually he nodded, hesitantly. “Maybe.” was all he could muster. “I´ll let you know.” And with that he walked out. He needed to get away from here. 

~~~~~~~~~

Cosette allowed him to eat, until he looked a little less pale, he figured. Until she was sure, he would not fall off his chair by pure exhaustion. That was as long as she could hold it back, this always present need of hers, for answers, and the truth.

“Now tell me, Papa.” she demanded. “Where have you been? And why did you leave without a word to me? Or even a note.”

“A note.” Valjean repeated with a weary smile. His eyes met hers and he could see that she was guessing something. The fear was unmistakable. It almost tore him apart on the inside. His own daughter.

“I … got a note.” he told her at last. “I admit it would have been right to leave you one, before I left, but … this note that I got …” he shook his head as he took it out of his pocket, to show it to her. “Let´s just say that left me kind of … startled.” He held it out for her and her fearful hesitation broke his heart. “It´s from Marius.” he told her.

Her eyes went wide, in shock and worry, as she reached for the note at last, opening it, to read the dreadful words of a man that believed to die and never see his love again.

“You don´t have to worry, Cosette.” Valjean told her, as he saw her paling. “He´s alive. He survived.”

Her shock subsided, just a bit, to be replaced by simple pain and high confusion. “What happened? Please, Papa, I need to know.”

He sighed, deeply, fighting back the urge to tell her, everything. 

“I went out … after I read this. To find out … what I could. I … wasn´t allowed to get closer to the battles. The police wouldn´t let anyone through.” He guessed that was probably true, so it had to sound believable. In her momentary state, it was probably the farthest from her mind to doubt anything he said. He could see the tears in her eyes, as she covered her mouth with her hand, so heartbreaking. So innocent.

“I stayed …” he went on. “Wandered around. Tried to find out whatever I could.” His mind was racing, trying to find the easiest way to tell her this lie, without giving too much space for questions. At last he settled with telling her: “Marius got wounded. He´s at his grandfather´s home now. That´s all I know.”

She closed her eyes, the tears spilling out, running down her face at last. And seeing how much pain she felt, only by this briefest of descriptions, Valjean just didn´t have it in him anymore, to rebuke her for not being honest. For keeping this secret from him, about this boy she loved, as if he was a stranger. His little girl. His only reason to stay alive.

“Will he be all right?” she asked, between her breaths, fighting desperately for some composure. 

And Jean Valjean had no strength left to smile at her, not anymore. “I don´t know.” he said, and that was nothing but the truth.

~~~~~~~~~~

There was a lot of military in the street. Military, not police. Javert had noticed the siege they´d put over the city, but it hadn´t been that much last night. It got worse. As if they were afraid the revolutionaries could still pop up from a shadow somewhere. As if they could come back from their graves to keep fighting them.  
But that wouldn´t happen, they just had to know that. Everyone who´d been at those barricades had died there. They´d never left those places.

Javert suddenly had the strangest mental image in his mind. The young boys, he´d met in this fateful night, all of them who had died, standing on top of a huge barricade, still aiming their guns at not existing enemies, still waving their flags, still singing their songs of freedome and liberty, not realizing that they were already dead, and with them this dream of a new world they would see when morning came. A fight that would never end. An eternal barricade, that these poor souls would never be able to leave, forced to relive this violent night of their deaths over and over again. Purgatory in it´s cruelest form.

Javert closed his eyes, forcing the image away, and quickened his steps. He needed to get home. Off the street. These eyes on him, made him nervous, even the glances of the soldiers, from far away, seemed to bore into him. As if he was a criminal, like Valjean, on the run and in danger to be discovered.

Once again he had to force this idea away, out of his mind. Before it drove him into madness. 

Finally his home. He hurried up the stairs, and practically threw himself against the door. It gave way, before he could even think of putting the key into the lock. And for a moment he was just startled. His police senses kicked in at once. There was a chair in the middle of the room, a rope hanging from the ceiling. And when he noticed a shadow in his back, he swirled around, by pure instinct, trying to avoid the attack.

Only he was still too weary from the fights of these last two days, and the blow he received left him dizzy, long enough for his attackers, to grab him, and drag him to the chair. Javert had no idea how he summoned the strength or the willpower to struggle, but somehow his instincts must have kicked in, faster than his brain. He raised his elbow, hit something, heard a grunt, and punched, randomly at the second man beside him. 

It wasn´t enough. Not by a long shot. But it was enough to buy him some air, long enough to grab the rope and rip it off the ceiling. How he managed it to hit anything when he threw it was a mystery to him, for he hadn´t even had the time to aim properly. But when he looked again, the rope lay around the neck of one of his attackers. A second jerk of his wrist and the rest of the rope swung, catching the second man, as he tried to lunge for him. He pulled, knocking their head against each other, and shoved them both into the third man.

To his great misfortune, they now were exactly between him and his way out of this misery. He didn´t fool himself with the insanity of being able to knock them out for good, and he surely wouldn´t reach the door before they´d regained their stance. So he did the only thing that was left for him as an option. He ripped once again, on the rope. The man who´s neck had been caught in it, yelped, falling like an old tree, and Javert swirled around, before he heard the sound of him hitting the ground, running for the window. His hands worked without his mind, skillfully like he´d learned it in years and years of training, winding the rope, pitifully but sufficiently enough around the handle of his window. And then, with no chance at all of being sure if the rope would hold, he just jumped.

For a moment he saw the street closing in, way too fast, and the part of his mind that could still think, somehow had the time to realize how ridiculous this was. That he was now fighting for his life with everything he had, while only last night he would have happily given up, with no struggle at all. And then the rope strained, and he felt the pain of a pull in his shoulder, way too fast, and way too sudden. But he had no time to think about the pain. His feet touched the ground, and after a brief stumble to find his balance, he straightened and just ran.


	3. Fate

 

The street before the pharmacy was crowded, usually the perfect scene for someone who needed to hide in plain sight. If it hadn´t been for this shiny uniform Javert still wore. Epaulettes like his just had the tendency to draw too many gazes, something he had been proud of in another time of his life. Now it was as if all these gazes burned a hole into his skin, one after the other, until they would leave nothing of him but a crumbled heap of charred flesh.

Marianne was there, standing in her door, handing a bottle of some medicine to a customer. The old lady smiled at her, and in this moment, Marianne´s eyes found Javert. His expression instantly told her that something was wrong, and when he reached her, he didn´t have to tell her, to get inside, away from the street.

“What happened?” she asked, as he checked the street one last time, before closing the door.

“I need your help.”

“I see that.” It was spoken like a joke but without the smile to it. She realized how serious he was, and the former inspector was incredibly grateful for that. That he didn´t have to explain it to her, and this simple fact reassured him in his decision that this was the place where he´d find the help, he needed so desperately now.

“Someone´s after me.” he told her, still breathless from his run back here. “They tried to kill me. Make it look like suicide.”

Her shocked expression flickered, only for a moment, at this last revelation. He knew how ridiculous that sounded. Had they been there last night, they wouldn´t have needed to stage his suicide. But they hadn´t been there, last night, on that bridge. Marianne had been there. Just as she was here now. And she reacted so different from what he would have expected from a woman. She didn´t grow wide eyes, and threw her hand over her mouth, in shock and fear. She didn´t skip back or cried out. All she did was gasping, ever so slightly, her mouth opening in an expression of careful awareness, while her eyes momentarily darted away from him, as she took in his news.

“They broke into my home.” he went on talking, mostly to get this anger off his chest. “Waited there for me.”

“You know who they are?” Marianne asked, urgently, and he nodded. For a moment her eyes did go wide, in hope though not in fear, as if this was something she´d been waiting for all her life. To hear the names of these men, Javert had just encountered.

But Javert had to tell her: “I don´t know their names. But I recognized something. A … A ring. One of them had a ring on his hand, that belongs to a group of … of soldiers.”

“Soldiers.”

He nodded. “They call themselves Serpents Corail. It´s a secret strike force. Their members are found in every position of the police and the military. All that matters to get into it is skill.”

“Skill for what?” Marianne asked but it was clear that she was scared to hear the answer to that.

Javert expected to see the wide eyes over the hand on the mouth after all, when he told her, mercilessly: “Killing.”

He waited for her reaction. The shock to settle in, the typical woman. But it didn´t come. She only frowned, almost sad, about this information. Something a normal citizen, even a man, might have found to be shocking to the bone. But all she did was looking at him. Waiting for him to continue. As if this kind of talk was not so unfamiliar to her.

Javert forced his irritation aside. “They´re trained to find and kill people. If they get the order, they don´t need to know why a man has to die. They simply follow the order.”

“Who gave the order to kill you?” Marianne asked, way too collected. “Do you know it?”

Javert took a deep breath. “No.” he said and there was something in her eyes, that looked like a silent curse: Dammit!

“But I know how to find out.” he went on, narrowing his eyes. “I know whom to ask.”

Marianne only nodded. “You cannot go out like that.” she stated, matter of factly. “They´ll find you in no time. This uniform …”

Javert could only agree. “I need to change into something unobtrusive. Something that makes me blend in. I don´t assume that you have any men´s clothing?”

There was a deep frown between her eyes. “I´ll get you something.” She seemed to have problems, finding her next sentence. “My friend has a sewing shop, not far from here.” she told him, her eyes, somewhere on the ground behind him. “I´ll be right back.” She still didn´t look at him, as she walked past him, the frown deepening even more. “Wait here. Don´t stay in the front. Wait in my kitchen.” 

And with that she was gone, out of the door, without even one glance at him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Valjean would have preferred to stay at home – dear god, even locking Cosette into her room, forbidding her to ever speak of this young boy again, would have been more preferable than to accompany her to his home. The place he´d only seen once, through a cloud of filth, smell and exhaustion. 

Not that he had to worry they might recognize him. Not the way he´d looked and smelled that night. No, that was not his fear. Marius … he desperately tried to remember if he´d even seen him face to face in this night. Had he? And if they had glanced at each other, had Marius seen him clear enough to recognize him? Oh god, how he wished he could just stay away. 

But of course he couldn´t. The baron would have been more than just startled, by a young woman like her, a woman he´d never seen before, showing up at his doorstep, only a day after his grandson was mortally wounded, asking to see him. And the way Valjean knew his daughter she would not be able to hide her affection well enough to let it seem appropriate. 

So he took it upon himself to speak the words of formal greeting, asking politely to visit the sick young man. For his daughter and Marius were friends. And the whole time, Cosette kept quiet, beside him, her eyes cast down, glancing up again and again, begging the baron with her eyes, to please allow her in. To please say that her love was well. And Valjean had to compose himself even more than she had, to not let show how much it pained him, to be forced to witness this.

When they finally stepped up to Marius sickbed, the boy so pale he almost looked like a corpse, sleeping like that, Cosette couldn´t hold onto herself any longer. For just another moment, she hid her tears behind her open hand, gasping in despair, before she didn´t care any longer about the glances she´d get, and threw herself down beside the boy, caressing his face, his hair, his sweaty forehead. 

“Marius.” she wept. “Oh dear god, Marius. Please, don´t leave me. Not now. Not now.”

Valjean met the eyes of the baron, startled about this outburst of tears and worry from Cosette. But after another moment, the old man started smiling, understanding at last, and he gave Valjean an approving nod. If only Valjean could have shared this feeling.

~~~~~~~~~~

Javert´s nervous pacing stopped, when he heard the sound of the door. Not the front. Marianne entered through the back, probably to be more discrete. Once again he had to grant her a great skill for such things, and for a moment his suspicious mind, the mind of the inspector he once was, wanted to ask how this could be. How she knew how to do these things. 

But he pushed it back.

“I know the police is in the streets all the time since they put the city under siege.” she told him. “But I can´t help myself and feel as if they´re all looking for you.”

The expression in her eyes, was enough to make any man smile. It might have been enough to even make Javert smile, or at least chuckle. Hadn´t the situation been so serious. Still for a moment, he almost felt amused.

When she handed him the clothes, he hesitated, only for a second, before turning away from her, to head for the bedroom door. How could this place be so familiar already? He´d been here only one time in his life, and most of this time, he´d been sleeping. And yet, he once again entered her bedroom, as if he knew this place intimately. 

For a moment, he just stood there, frozen, as if the door behind him had brought him into another world, not just another room, leaving everything he was running away from outside. As if he had entered a bubble of entirely different air, where nothing from out there could reach him. Not as long as he stayed here. And if he just sat down, closed his eyes, and stayed still for long enough, maybe then everything would just go away, and the darkness would fade. Into this new day, Marianne had spoken off, last night. Maybe if he just waited here, this new dawn would come after all. Maybe not now, maybe not tomorrow, but someday. Maybe someday.

But of course he couldn´t just sit down, and hide in here, huddled into a ball like a scared kid. There were men after him. Dangerous men. And they would find him, even here, if he didn´t beat them to it.

So he took off his uniform, sparing only one moment of regret when he dropped the blue jacket on Marianne´s bed, the symbol of his duty, his dedication, his entire life. Now he had to leave it behind. In order to live another day.

He turned away from it, forcing himself to move on, and when he returned to the sitting room, he was no longer a police inspector. He was simply a man, like any other man out there on the streets. And maybe that was what he was meant to be, he suddenly realized. After this fateful night at the barricades, later on that bridge, maybe this was the way he was meant to take from now on. 

But not before he hadn´t finished this one business of his. Not before he knew why someone suddenly wanted his death. Not before he was sure they wouldn´t come again, when he least expected it.

When Marianne turned to him, seeing him in the unusual clothing, a tiny smile appeared on her face, only for a moment, before the reason for his change, came back to her.

“What will you do now?” she asked.

“I need to talk to someone. A man from the brigade. He´ll know what´s going on. He always seems to know these things.”

He looked at her and once again there was nothing in her eyes but a calm awareness, tensed now, but still so steady, as if a huge wave could wash over her, and she´d only let it pass, waiting until it was gone, before she kept going, thinking about how to react and what to do next. 

She nodded. “Be careful.”

Nothing more. And Javert surprised himself by taking one more step closer to her, smiling at last, just a tiny bit. It felt strange. Strange in how easy it was.

“Thank you, Marianne.” his own voice sounded like that of a stranger. But for her it seemed to be completely all right, no reason to frown and stare at him as if he´d lost his mind. The corner of her mouth twitched up, into a tiny smile, and for a moment she blushed, before she managed to turn it into an amused smirk.

“Well.” she shrugged. “I guess it´s good to know that you´re willing to fight for your life again.”

If Javert had needed another proof for the fact that this was a day made of miracles, this smile of his right now would have been it.

~~~~~~~~~~

It was like a torture Valjean had to go through. To keep up the smile and stay polite, in the face of his worst pain. He was glad that there was some real pain in his body, aching muscles from the exertions of two days and nights of fighting, for dear life. The physical pain, as uncomfortable as it was, helped to ground him and not lose his mind. The baron had truly began to speak as if Marius and Cosette were already engaged.

God, he needed to get out and fill his lungs and mind with some fresh air.

“I ordered some medicine for Marius, at the pharmacy.” the baron mentioned, as if he´d heard Valjean´s silent plead. “I should send one of my servants to pick it up before it closes.”

Before he even knew what he was doing, Valjean stepped in his way.

“Please, Monsieur.” he spoke. “Allow me.”

“But …” the baron threw a glance at Cosette, who was still so focused on Marius that she didn´t even notice the discussion between the two men.

“I insist.” Valjean told the baron, gently. “My legs are aching for some movement and it seems to me that Cosette won´t want to leave too soon anyway. Really, I would love to do this for you.”

The baron seemed to think about this for a moment, probably debating if it was appropriate to leave the girl without her father, no matter if the young man was unconscious or not. But eventually he nodded.

“All right, Monsieur.” he said, and somehow Valjean had the feeling as if the baron had guessed the real reason for his wish to retrieve after all. “I … could arrange a fiacre to drive the Mademoiselle home.” he offered. “If you prefer to meet her there.”

“What about the medicine?” Valjean was honestly startled for a moment.

But the baron assured him: “I still have some left. It´ll last until you bring me the refill tomorrow.”

And in this moment Valjean just knew that the baron had understood. This emphasizing glance he got, was painful too, but not half as painful as having to stand by and watch how his beloved daughter poured out all her love and concern to this pale figure in the bed.

Valjean accepted the gesture, gratefully, and left, leaving it to the baron to tell Cosette about the arrangement. If she should ever get her eyes off this boy that was.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Javert waited in the narrow allay near the station, until the man he´d come here to see, was close enough to grab. He knew Dubois would come to this corner, he usually had a cigarette there, secretly during his watch. Javert had caught him a few times, and every time the slimy bastard had sworn it wouldn´t happen again. Now Javert was glad for this weak character of the man.

When he dragged him into the allay, Dubois yelped like an idiot, grunting when his back hit the stone brick wall. His eyes found Javert, and for a moment they went wide, not quite with fear but with something else. The former inspector had no name for it. It only served to anger him more.

“Surprised to see me?” he snarled, and the man in his grip smiled, just as slimy as Javert knew him.

“In a matter of fact yes.” Dubois croaked. “I heard that you resigned.” 

The man who once had been Dubois superior, nodded. “Obviously in more ways than one, right? You know that I had some visitors?”

“You had?” 

The perkily ironic tone was instantly rewarded with another push against his throat.

“Don´t you dare to mock me.” Javert hissed. “I recognized the ring one of them wore. He was from the Serpents Corail. You know who sent them, don´t you?” Dubois didn´t answer.

“Don´t you?” Javert pushed once again and the other man choked, nodding at last. Still there was this strange glowing in his eyes, as if he was more amused than scared.

“Who was it?” Javert demanded to know. “Who wanted me dead?”

Dubois was still smirking. “Gisquet.”

Javert´s grip lost strength. He´d surely expected every name, but not that of the Police Prefect. 

Dubois didn´t try to free himself, as he smirked down on him. Probably because he knew he was in no danger. Why should he be? If he wanted help, he only needed to yell out and every police man on the place would be happy to put a bullet into the head of this sentenced ex inspector.

“Why?” was all he could muster, barely a breath.

“Come on, Javert.” Dubois sneered. “You were beaten up but not that bad. You remember what happened.”

“At the barricades?” Javert´s thoughts flew back to Valjean, crawling out of the sewers, the half dead boy on his back, and those eyes, so tired and kind, even behind all that filth. 

To the back of the man he´d sworn to arrest, walking away from him, step by step, until he was gone.

“I … I tried not to …” he stammered but Dubois was untouched by his distress.

“You messed up.” he told him straight to the face, and gave an uncaring shrug. “I guess many people did. But you know how these things work. Someone has to take the fall. And it can´t be Gisquet himself. He´s too close to the mayor.”

For a moment Javert was just struck. “So this is not about …” he stopped himself just in time, but Dubois had noticed something. The smirk was gone, for a change, replaced by a frown.

“About what?”

Javert glanced at the other man, trying to read him. As if this hoser in police disguise had ever been worth a closer study.

“All this because of some politics?” he asked, still unable to believe his ears. “That´s why they want to get rid of me?”

It was so ridiculous. The whole fuss about Valjean, the one thing Javert would have expected to come back and break his neck, had he not decided to be faster, and now it should be something like that? Something that had barely anything to do with him in the first place. Or with Valjean.

“You´re smart, Javert.” Dubois was smirking again. “You know there´s more to that. But this is the only story they tell us. And the only one you´ll ever hear, if they find you.”

The former inspector regarded his former inferior, this slimy smirk, this sassy glowing in the man´s eyes, so patronizing – where the hell did he take the confidence for such a smug grin? He was nothing. Absolutely nothing. Not even within the police. But somehow this arrogant smile made Javert understand at last.

He stepped back, suddenly feeling dirty standing too close to this man. Dubois was still smiling.

Javert lowered his gaze, trying to shake this feeling of being derailed. His own superior. The Prefect he´d served for all these years. Now he´d given the order and left him for death, to be eaten by rabid dogs. Because this was practically what the Serpents Corail was. A bunch of wild dogs, unchained, their wildness somehow harnessed to serve a purpose. And now this purpose was Javert.

“Thanks for the answers.” he murmured, more disgusted than grateful and turned to leave.

“If I were you …” Dubois spoke behind him, still leaning against the wall. “I´d get the fuck out of Paris. Disappear. And hope that no one ever finds out that you´re still alive.” At last he pushed himself off the wall, straightening his uniform. “And … it would be nice if you´d stay away from me, too. I don´t wanna end up like certain others that try to help you, if you get my meaning.”

For a moment Javert was lost. But then he indeed got the meaning.

“What does that mean?” he pushed him back against the wall, with the same result as before.

“Let´s just say, it´s not very healthy to be associated with you just now.” Dubois raised a patronizing brow. “No matter how pretty.”

The look in Dubois eyes was just so arrogant, so knowing and yet so uncaring, that it hit something deep inside Javert´s soul. A weak spot he hadn´t known was there. But now he felt it, and as he stepped back, he felt a coldness take over his body, like he´d never known it before. The cold hand of fear. Not for himself – something he´d never really known, losing his life in the line of work was part of his duty – but for something else. Someone else.  
Marianne.

He stared into this arrogant face for two more heartbeats … and swirled around, already running.


	4. By the Passion and the Blood

 

When Javert rushed into the pharmacy, the shop was empty. No sound audible, not even the faintest clattering of tools or footsteps from the back, which should have been there if Marianne had been busy back there. And he was sure she would have locked the door if she´d abandoned the shop for some errand. 

His heart was racing, sweat appearing on his forehead. No. He couldn´t be too late. Mustn´t be. 

He ran, around the counter, and to the back. As he ripped open the door to the sitting room, a gush of wind, produced by his own momentum hit his face, blinding him momentarily. But then his eyes found the floor, the table he´d had breakfast on only this morning, toppled over, and Marianne … oh god, Marianne.

His heart just about stopped for a moment. So did his breath. All the warmth of his body seemed to be gone, as he saw the blood, all over her, her eyes still open, her face still so calm and sad, as if she´d wished nothing more, even in dying, to see the next dawn. A light of hope at the horizon, chasing away the dark. Only now there was no light anymore. Not for her. She´d been thrown into the dark, just like all the others. The same dark Javert would have embraced the other night, if it hadn´t been for her. 

The strength left his legs, leaving him numb. But only for a moment, until he heard the sounds, so familiar by now, of an attacker closing in. 

Once again his instincts, gained in years of police work, saved his life, as he swirled around, and grabbed the pistol that was aimed at him. Javert recognized the man that had attacked him at his own place and in this moment, all the rage and fury he´d kept stored inside his heart, broke free. He yanked the arm of the man up and jerked it around, taking the gun out of his hands, just as the two others came into his view.

He shot, and it wasn´t before his bullet had hit that he saw the blood on the falling man´s hands. Not his own. 

If Javert would have had the time, he would have followed this man, even while he was dying to pay him back what he had done, orders or not. But he didn´t have the time. The man he´d disarmed lunged at him, too fast this time for Javert to dodge him, and the gun got knocked out of his hand. For a moment his world spun, and then he collided with the door, throwing it shut with a loud bang. 

Javert heard a click, and when he looked, the third man aimed at him. Already working purely on instinct again, Javert spun the man that had pushed him around, and brought him between himself and the bullet. It hit his human shield, where he didn´t know. And didn´t care. He pushed the man off himself towards the shooter. And behind him the door got opened, hastily. 

He swirled around, expecting another attacker, a customer, even a police man. But what he saw left him speechless for a moment.

He stared into the gaping face of none other than Jean Valjean, and in this moment, the moment God seemed to have chosen to improve his humor, the former inspector, almost started to laugh. That was until he remembered the third man, and his gun, probably ready to shoot again by now.

He swirled back around, glancing over his shoulder, just in time to see him aim it. Two guns, not just one. One for each of them? And without knowing why he did this, Javert didn´t lunge for the shooter, but for Valjean. 

The shot echoed behind him, the bullet sizzling through the air only a few inches past his head, and Javert just knew he´d miscalculated. The counter was too close, the space outside the door, too narrow, for a good landing. Valjean´s back hit the wood, and so did Javert´s elbow, sending pins and needles up his arm, only a second before they painfully hit the floor. 

They barely had the time to realize what just happened, and that the respective other was indeed in the same room, when the looming shadow of their killer was behind them yet again. 

Javert was too slow, and wouldn´t have made it up in time, to make another stand. The pistol was aiming at the back of his head, before he´d even seen it coming. And then Valjean kicked out, into the knee of the man, and his assassin yelped out, in pain, doubling over. 

Javert didn´t wait any longer. He grabbed the man and brought the gun down, aiming it at his abdomen. When the next shot came, the assassin went still, tensed, until his body gave in and he sagged down, to the ground.

“What in God´s name is going on?” Valjean cried, from the floor.

But before Javert had a chance to even take in the question, someone from outside yelled, crying out for help. For the police.

“Dammit.” the former police inspector dropped the empty weapon and for no other reason than the fact that he couldn´t leave any witnesses, he grabbed Valjean and jerked him back to his feet.

Getting out through the front was no option so he shoved him back into the sitting room. There was no time, none at all, to stop and glance down on the dead Marianne, to regret her death and feel guilt and pain and shame all in one. No time to mourn this loss that shouldn´t have been a loss for him. Not over someone he´d just met, only a night before. Someone who´d only died because she´d tried to help him.

“What …?” Valjean´s voice brought him back to reality, and Javert pushed him out of the door.

“Don´t stand around like a dumbfounded idiot.” he barked at him. “Do you want to get arrested?” 

At the corner he stopped anyway, just for an instant, to look back, checking.

“I don´t understand.” he heard Valjean breath, and this time when he met his old foe´s gaze, he saw the confusion, the puzzlement, the fear. And for the first time in his life, he couldn´t even blame him.

“Neither do I.” he answered him. And in his lack of any other word to say, he took his collar, forcing him to move again. “Now come on. You do remember how to run, right?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Talbert glanced around the room, at the dead body behind the counter, a young sergeant leaning over it, before hastily standing up to look through the door. More dead bodies. Talbert met the gaze of the third man that shared this discovery, and the way Moreau´s jaw was working, the scar on his neck moving like a writhing snake, Talbert knew that they had the same thoughts.

They didn´t need to see who was back there. If Javert would be one of them, there´d be someone here to tell them what had happened. But there wasn´t.

“Oh, dear lord.” the young sergeant exclaimed, and his gaze fell down, to the man by his feet. A puzzled expression appeared on his face. “Sir. This is Roulliard.” he found, and instantly his eyes searched the other bodies. “And this man. I know him too. He´s from the national guard. What by the …?”

“It´s all right, sergeant, we will look into this.” Moreau stopped him, before the young man could start wondering even more. Maybe even why police men and soldiers were found dead, in civil clothes, all in one place that contained a dead civilian on top of it. Or why the mayor´s personal secretary was out in the streets, investigating a crime scene for that matter.

Talbert watched how Moreau gave the young sergeant a strict glance. “Secure the place.” he ordered him. “Let no one inside. This is an official crime scene now.”

The man nodded, intimidated, be it by Talbert´s presence or his position – or maybe by all the blood around him – and hurried out.

The secretary took a deep breath, meeting the gaze of the police man, so intense.

“We have to report this.” Moreau said, and Talbert almost laughed. 

“Of course we have to.” The stare didn´t let go of him. It was seething. “What?” the secretary demanded.

“You told me to keep our distance.” Moreau recalled, accusingly. “To let them handle it. It would be fine.”

“It should have been.” Talbert cried, panting in his anger. “These three were good at their job. They served the mayor well, in the past.” He ran a hand over his mouth, smoothing the blond hairs covering his chin. “And he´s only one man.”

“If he´s only one man, why are so many of us on this task?” Moreau countered. “This whole thing should be over by now. And not like this.” He gestured for the dead bodies around them, and Talbert could only hope that his stare would rebuke the man. This was serious business and he couldn´t have a man like Moreau, no matter how well trained and experienced, to question his orders.

“Soon it will be.” he promised him, therefor. “He can´t hide forever. You and your men will find and eliminate him.” 

He gave Moreau a gaze that spoke loud and clear that he´d better not object now. And Moreau didn´t. How could he? Every objection now, would only diminish his own skills, and those of his men. And none of those who belonged to the Serpents Corail would ever dare to do this.

Talbert nodded. “You will find him.” he repeated one more time. “One man can´t be a danger to us. We´ve come too far for this. Javert is on his own, and this is how he´ll meet his end.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When his back hit the wall, the iron hand of the inspector around his throat, Valjean lost all the air from his lungs.

“And now you´ll tell me.” Javert hissed into his face. “What did you do in that pharmacy?”

Valjean looked into those furious eyes of a man, he´d always expected to meet this way, and strangely he wasn´t even scared. Confused, yes. Irritated. Totally lost in why and how he´d gotten here. But he had lived too long with this nightmare of Javert catching up with him, discovering his true identity and throwing him back into a cell, chained up like a slave again, that this situation was almost too familiar by now, to be scared of it. It would have scared him, if it had never happened at all.

“What does a man usually do in a pharmacy?” he spoke. “I came to pick up some medicine.” He saw the change in Javert´s eyes, as his words came home to him, making him halt and think. “For Marius.” Valjean specified, and the words spilled out of him, without him wanting it. “The boy I took from the barricades. He´s still not well. But he lives. Thanks to you. Hadn´t you allowed me to leave, he would have died.”

For a moment the anger seemed to come back to Javert, but in the end his hand let go of Valjean´s throat, and he stepped back, exhausted.

“Who were these men?” Valjean asked. “Why did they try to kill us?” 

Javert didn´t answer. He seemed to lack the strength for it.

“I came to the station.” Valjean blurred, not really knowing why this was important, especially now. “A few hours after you let me go. To turn myself in.”

At this Javert finally glanced at him again, and the expression in his face was almost one of shock. “Why would you do that?”

“I gave you my word.” was all Valjean knew to say to that. “But you weren´t there. They told me you had resigned. Is that true?”

Once again he didn´t get an answer. But the way Javert avoided his gaze, spoke more than thousand words.

“Why?” He just couldn´t believe it.

The voice of the former inspector, was low and almost hurt, when he spoke: “I don´t expect you to understand, Valjean. So there is no sense in trying to explain it to you.”

Valjean didn´t know what to say. Javert turned away from him, halting, as if thinking. His eyes were those of a hunted animal, still aware, always ready to jump and run – or fight.

“So you really just came there for some medicine.” he repeated. “You really expect me to believe that you showing up there, right in this moment, was pure coincidence?”

Valjean looked into this wary gaze and knew no response. “What do you want me to say?”

Javert´s eyes fell down, as he thought, visibly struggling to decide what to do with this.

“These men tried to kill me.” he said at last. “And for that they killed an innocent woman. I can´t afford to believe in coincidences.”

Valjean frowned, uncertain. He´d never expected Javert, from all the people in the world, to talk like that. What on earth did he mean by that? 

“Who are these men?” he asked again. “And why were we running from the police? I thought you´d …”

“Shut up.” Javert hissed, with unexpected force. “You know nothing, Valjean. Nothing, you hear me?” 

The former convict stared at his old foe, taken aback, much more than he thought he could be, by an outburst like this. Something about the way Javert had said that, was strange. Unexpected. And his gaze, the depth in his eyes, seemed to be torn, when he glanced at him again. 

Valjean was not sure what he expected Javert to say next, but it surely wasn´t: “Do you believe in God, Valjean?”

Before he could even think of nodding, Javert – obviously assuming that of course the answer was yes – went on with no pause at all: “And in fate?”

Valjean was so confused, more than ever, since he´d entered this pharmacy and heard the shots. What was Javert talking about? And where did he want to go with this?

As if he´d read those questions in his face, Javert narrowed his eyes at him, nodding almost unnoticeable. “I recently learned that nothing happens without a reason.” he spoke, as if holding a very important speech. “You being here must have a reason. And right now I don´t have the luxury to doubt these reasons.” Before Valjean even knew what was happening, the former police inspector had grabbed the fabric of his coat again. “You´re coming with me.” he stated, no argument allowed. “And you will help me find these men. Helping shouldn´t be too hard for you, right, man of mercy?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cosette looked up, at the sound of the door, and instantly she was up, out of her chair, hurrying to the front door. Finally. It had gotten too late by now. Way too late. Soon it would be darkening. 

This was not normal. Not even for him. So short after he´d been gone for a day.

“Papa!” she cried before she even saw him, having recognized him by the sounds he made, when entering. “Why did you just leave? You could have said someth …” 

Her gaze fell upon the second man, in her father´s company. Cold blue eyes met hers and for a moment she felt as if this gaze, took all the warmth from her blood.

“Cosette.” her father spoke, from far away as it seemed. “My dear. We have a guest tonight.” His gaze found that of the other man, briefly as if he was unsure himself. “Would you prepare the guest room, please?” he asked her nonetheless. 

Cosette regarded the gaze this man gave her father, so cold and ungrateful, as if he´d just insulted him, instead of offering hospitality. And in this moment Cosette was certain that this man was capable of nothing else but coldness. And that he would draw them both into this pit along with him, if they allowed him to stay around them for too long.

“Papa.” she dragged him aside, whispering urgently at him: “I know his face, this is the police man we …” she halted briefly and lowered her voice even more. “… we ran away from the other day. Don´t you remember?”

But her father didn´t seem to be concerned about her warning. He who had always taken so much care, not to get close to any police uniform they saw in the streets. 

“Don´t worry, Cosette.” he told her, not trying in the least to speak quietly. As if he wanted this man to hear everything he said. “I know exactly who he is.” he told her, and looked up, at the inspector.

Cosette´s heart beat in her throat, as those cold blue eyes lay first on her father, and then on her. Surely the next thing to happen would be that this man would reveal his true colors after all, and arrest them both for some made up crime. Just as she had always feared it would happen, if she should ever see this face again. The man from the nightmares of her childhood. 

The more did it startle her, that his voice didn´t sound like roaring thunder, not slicing as a knife, or poisonous like the venom of a snake. For a moment this man, that wasn´t dressed as police but definitely was, straightened his posture, just a bit, before he spoke, surprisingly soft.

“I can assure you, Mademoiselle. You have nothing to fear from me. I´m no longer with the police. In fact …” and at this his steel blue eyes met her father´s again. “I might be a wanted fugitive myself now.”

Cosette could feel her father tense, beside her, at those words. But just as always when something from his past was stirring inside of him, he concealed it quickly, before it surfaced, for someone – her – to see.

“Cosette.” he turned to her, sounding almost nonchalant. “Would you make us some coffee? The inspector …” he met the other man´s gaze, reconsidering. “Javert and I have to talk.” he finished and Cosette could see in Javert´s face that there was something strange about the fact that he had chosen to rephrase it.

For a moment her insides fought against his wish, to leave them alone, but in the end, she obeyed, as she always did. Instead of leaving for the kitchen though, she stopped, just behind the door. 

“What happened?” she heard her father ask. “Is it because of me? Because you let me go?”

There was a faint snort, from the inspector. “Don´t flatter yourself, Valjean. The world is not circling only around you.”

“Then what´s the reason for all of this? Please tell me, I might be able to help.”

Cosette heard footsteps, and then the sound of someone sitting down. The sigh she heard was not her father´s. Neither was that ironic chuckle. 

“How could you be able to help?” Javert asked, and Cosette couldn´t help herself. She had to see. So she opened the door again, just a crack, to peek through. 

“Do you even know what you´re doing?” Javert asked, and in the way he looked upwards at the ceiling, she guessed that this question had not been meant for her father.

“You say you are a convict now.” her father spoke, gently, and as Javert turned back to him, he shrugged, smiling. “Let´s just say I have some experience with that. I could be of help.”

Cosette´s hand tensed, around the door handle. Now it would happen, she was sure of it. Now this ruthless police inspector would jump up and arrest him. Why? Why had he said this? After all those years? Had he lost his mind? Had he forgotten?

The same time her heart beat faster, in anticipation, and a part of her wanted nothing more than for him to go on, tell some more. A convict? Experience? What kind of experience?

Outside Javert did not jump up. He remained in his seat, glancing at her father tiredly. “Yeah.” he sighed. “I guess you could.” 

After having spoken this his face got distorted by something Cosette could only name as a sort of pain, even though she knew that this was not even half of what this was. Javert turned away from her father, burying his face in his hand. “What has happened to this world?” he groaned. “I´m in the house of a convict. I should be here arresting you. Instead I´m hiding from my own men.” 

Cosette gasped, closing her mouth quickly, and her heart was so loud in her ears that she was sure they had to hear it. But they didn´t.

Javert kept his face in his hand, palm massaging his forehead in despair. And when Cosette looked at her father, she saw only sympathy there. A compassion that she only knew from him, when it was about people who were truly miserable. Beggars, ill, poor people. Not a man like this. And for the first time in her life Cosette feared that her father´s good heart would bring him harm. Maybe even worse.

She watched with dread as he started to move, closer to this man that could be both of their doom, and touched his shoulder, so light, only with the tips of his fingers. 

“Javert.” he addressed him, gently. “What happened?”

The inspector looked up at him and the cold gaze immediately made him withdraw his hand. Once again Cosette tensed, but Javert did nothing.

“The bottom line.” he started. “Though I´m sure it´s only half of the truth … is that someone wants to kill me. Apparently my own superiors.”

Her father shook his head in disbelieve. “Why that?”

Javert straightened a little bit. “Someone has to take the blame for what happened at the barricades. They tried to stage it as a suicide.”

For a moment her father frowned, thinking, before he asked: “Why did they kill the pharmacist?”

And for some reason this question seemed to make the inspector sad. “She tried to help me.” he told. “She saved my life.”

Cosette´s head twitched, as she regarded this scene in the other room. Was that real? Or was he just pretending? Somehow she couldn´t believe that this man was capable of a real emotion like this. It just had to be an act, to convince her father that he was true. And it seemed to work.

“She must have been very brave.” he found, and what Javert said next, at least sounded real.

“She was an angel.”

Her father raised his brows, startled about this unexpected soft and broken tone. Maybe he saw through it after all. Cosette could only hope. 

“I … I´m sorry.” he said, shattering her hopes. “Javert.”

The other man glanced up, his gaze hard again, angry. “I´m sure you are.” he hissed, and got up. 

Cosette reacted by instinct when she hurried through the door, back to them, as if she had to keep this police man from attacking her father. But as she stood there, the two men simply turned around to her, startled but not all that much. And all she could think of was: A lie. It just has to be a lie. 

But her father believed him. And she had always trusted her father. He´d been the one to protect her all these years. Would he trust this man into their home, if he would have any reason to believe that he could be dangerous to them?

“Cosette …” her father started but she shook her head, stopping him. Her eyes lay on Javert, trying to decide at last. And his gaze, now that she saw it closer, was indeed softer than before. Sadder. Could it be?

“I heard what you said.” she admitted, briefly meeting her father´s gaze before the inspector drew her attention again. God, could it really be? It was so hard for her to believe. At last she had to make herself speak up again.

“I´m sorry for your friend, sir.” was all she could muster.

The inspector sighed, and gave her father a glace. “It is so good to know how well concealed I am in this house.”

Cosette glanced at her father, taken aback at this remark, and he seemed embarrassed even.

“Besides me and Cosette no one will know that you´re here at all.” he said. “I swear to you.”

The door Cosette had used to conceal her spying, got opened even more, and new footsteps entered the living room.

“Monsieur, please forgive me but I must speak.” Toussaint blurred, placing herself in the middle of them all. “I have a friend, Estelle. She and her husband work with the nurses in the infirmary. Maybe she can help you with your investigation.”

Javert´s glare got more intense, as he seemed to say: Yes, I see how well concealed I am here. I see it very well.

Once again Cosette saw her father react with embarrassment. “Monsieur Javert may I introduce … this is … Madame Toussaint. Our … housekeeper. But besides her … there´s really no one here. Really.”

“I really didn´t want to listen in, Messieurs.” Toussaint just went on. “I apologize. But the walls are not that thick you see and …”

Cosette caught yet another glance between her father and the inspector, so telling, but her father avoided it quickly, clearing his throat.

“Anyway, you said you know someone, Amélie?”

“Yes, Monsieur. She´s an old dear friend of mine. And her husband works at the infirmary of the station. Many police men come and go there. If anyone knows anything, then it is him. And if he doesn´t know. He knows whom to ask.”

Cosette watched how Javert once again found her father´s gaze, both of them thinking this through. At last the inspector nodded his agreement, and her father turned to Toussaint.

“Would you talk to your friend, Amélie?” he asked her and she nodded, eagerly.

“I´ll go there right away, Monsieur.”

“Ask about a group called Serpents Corail.” Javert instructed her. “Something is going on at the higher departments of the police, and maybe the city itself. Your friend´s husband shall be careful who he speaks to.”

Toussaint nodded one more time, and without another word, she was gone, out of the door, to run this errand as quickly as possible. Cosette could not stop watching the inspector, still looking for something that would betray him. But when his gaze found hers, there was nothing. He was just unreadable.

“I believe it is better I don´t stay here.” he said, talking to her father, not to her.

“Why not?” her father asked, and as the inspector turned to leave, he hurried after him. “Wait.”

Javert whispered his response, but Cosette heard it anyway. “The last person that tried to shelter me, was killed. Do you want to risk the same thing happening to her?”

“But … where will you go?” her father asked.

Javert´s eyes searched Cosette again, very briefly. “Don´t worry.” he said. “I know my ways in this city.”

“How can I reach you?”

The inspector halted in the door, and Cosette had to keep herself from shouting at him to leave already. Why was her father trying to hold him back? Even the inspector seemed wary about this behavior. Eventually he straightened.

“I´ll find you.” he answered the question and then at last, he left.

Cosettte was at her father´s side, immediately.

“Papa.” she urged his gaze away from the door. “Are you really sure that we can trust him?”

She was sure he had to hear the urgency in her words, that he had to understand how concerned she was, and for a reason. But all he did was sigh, and pad her hand.

“Don´t you worry, Cosette.”

But this time she couldn´t just not worry, Cosette. “You think I don´t remember that night, from so long ago.” she blurred. “At the gates of Paris. When he chased us through the night. But I do remember.” And as she told him this, she saw the fear in his eyes. “This man has hunted us ever since I can remember.” she spoke. “How can we trust him now? He could be trying to fool us.”

The pain in her father´s eyes had so many layers, she couldn´t have told where it came from, even if her life depended on it.

“He´s not.” was all he said, and even though Cosette had never fully understood her father, now it was even worse.

“And how can you be so sure?” she asked.

“Because I know how it is to be in his shoes.” was his cryptic answer. That and another one of his, reassuring: “Just trust me, Cosette.”


	5. The Truth Within

“We have a problem.” Moreau´s words were spoken even before he´d fully entered the office.

Talbert looked up, from his writing, refusing to be infected by this man´s anxiety. “We have more than one.” he replied, putting his pen away. “Which one are you referring to?”

Moreau marched up to his desk, leaning on it. “There are people asking around. Questions that shouldn´t be asked.”

The secretary gave the police man a gaze of indifference. “That was to be expected.”

“Not like this.” Moreau insisted, and at last Talbert allowed himself to think. Maybe there was something to Moreau´s histrionics after all.

“Like what?” he asked, collected.

“An old man was heard to ask about the Serpents Corail.” Moreau told him, walking up and down before his desk. “He´s a civilian. He shouldn´t even know that name.”

Talbert understood. “Someone must have told him.”

“Javert!”

But at this Talbert looked up, sharply. “We can´t know that. For all we know he could have skipped the city by now. If he´s smart that´s what he has done.” He got up. “There are other people, too, Moreau. Others than a wasted inspector to be worried about. Each of them could have spoken to this man.” he halted, thinking for a moment. “Do we have his name?”

Moreau nodded and Talbert mirrored the nod. “Take care of this.”

“What about Javert?”

“We don´t know where he is. If he ever shows up again, we´ll take care of him. For now we have more pressing issues to deal with. You know what I´m talking about.”

And of course Moreau knew.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Valjean had found out where Javert had taken his stay, he´d been surprised. He´d never taken the man for someone able to lower himself down to such a level, even when it was about his life. But obviously he´d underestimated him. And just knowing that the inspector was probably disgusted with himself for staying that close to the street walkers´ patch, the most shady and filthy part of the city, Valjean felt a certain rise of respect for the man. He must hate it, but he did it anyway. Because it was necessary. And Valjean couldn´t help but wonder, if Javert would have also done that before the barricades.

He knocked on the door, throwing a glance over his shoulder, and mused that it might have been a better idea to wear something less shiny than his heavy coat, before he came here. People were looking at him funny – some hungry, for money – ever since he´d gotten here. But it was too late to do anything about that now.

The door got opened, just a bit and along with a very suspicious Javert, there was the barrel of a gun peeking out. 

When the former inspector met Valjean´s gaze, his paranoia changed to anger.

“For Christ´s sake!” he cursed, aiming the gun to the ground. “How the hell did you find me?”

“I know this city too, Javert.” Valjean told him, attempting to step inside.

Javert cursed under his breath and hurried to the window, peeking out, as if Valjean was not important, but would definitely bring the trouble with him.

“Listen to me.” Valjean tried to gain his attention. “I have some information that might interest you.”

Javert didn´t listen. He put the gun down, on what could only be called a bed in the absolute widest definitions, and got a tiny bag from underneath it, starting to gather his few belongings.

“What are you doing?”

“If you found me here, so will they.” Javert glared at him, over his shoulder, and for a moment Valjean felt guilty, as if he truly gave away the former inspector´s hideout.

“You are good in finding criminals.” he mentioned, as Javert kept throwing his stuff into the bag. “But hiding … and pretending that you´re someone else … that´s not your best, now is it?”

Javert glanced at him, for a moment, but didn´t dignify his remark with an answer. Valjean shrugged.

“Your face is just too well known.” he mentioned, but of course Javert would know that himself. “Maybe you should … change your appearance.” he suggested, and received yet another glare.

“I´ll think about it.” was the growled answer. Eventually Javert shook his head, turning back to his bag. “I should have known better than to hide from a convict.” he mumbled, not looking up again until he was done. The last item, his gun, vanished inside the bag, and he closed it with a snap. 

“What is this information you talked about?” he finally wanted to know. And for an instant the ex-convict was off balance.

“Amélie´s friend says …” he forcefully called himself to order. “... that her husband noticed some intensive movements of the police forces.”

Javert snorted. “After this revolt that is hardly a surprise.” he commented on this piece of information, that he probably considered rather poor.

But Valjean knew better than that. “No.” he objected. “He says it started before the revolt. And it wasn´t your men that he saw.”

That at last caught Javert´s attention. 

“He saw you too.” Valjean affirmed, and the other man´s gaze spoke volumes. “But this …” he shook his head. “Did you notice that now that so many of your men died at the barricades, they got replaced rather quickly?”

“That´s military efficiency.”

“No, not like this. This was initiated before the revolt even started. As if someone knew … and wanted them replaced by the right men. His men?”

“His?”

“Apparently they follow a man named Lecomte. Do you know him?”

Javert glanced up, and Valjean knew he did. Only he wouldn´t just admit that.

“What if I did?” he asked.

“Javert.” Valjean urged. “Something is going on up there. In the higher ranks of your police, and maybe the national guard. And it is not for the public´s best interest. There´s something more to that. Much more.”

Once again Javert snorted, as if this whole talk was simply ridiculous.

“They tried to kill me.” he recalled. “One of their own. I´m inclined to agree with you.”

“But you said it was to make you take the fall, to blame you for what happened. That´s too simple for this kind of effort.”

“I never said it was simple. I said, that this was all I had learned so far. And I know it´s about more than just me. Don´t you dare thinking of me as an arrogant megalomaniac. I know very well how important I am for this world. Or how less.”

Valjean stared at him, taken aback. “That´s … not what I wanted to say.”

“Of course.” was all Javert would give him for a response, and headed for the door.

“Where do you go?” Valjean flinched at the retrieve.

“First I need to find a new stay.” Javert answered, brusquely. “And then I need to talk to someone. An old friend.” He turned back, briefly. “Tell your servant my thanks. From here I better go on alone.”

And with that he walked out, leaving the dumbfounded Jean Valjean behind, to deal with his own thoughts.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Cosette paced through her room, her hands fiddling with each other, nervously. Please, she begged. Please, watch over him. Don´t let him run into his own perdition.   
This inspector was bad news. She just knew it. Why oh why did her father insist on helping him? It was beyond her.

Oh god, her soul was torn. Two men that she held so dear to her heart. Both in grave and mortal danger, the one by an outside force, the other by his own choice. And in both cases she was totally powerless to interfere. Oh God, was that what life had in store for her? To lose everyone she cared about, to a gruesome fate that didn´t care at all about the pain it would cause her? Just like she once lost her mother without a chance to ever see her again, or say goodbye? Would she lose Marius like that too? And her father? Oh God, she should have never let him go. She shouldn´t have … 

“Mademoiselle!” It was Toussaint´s voice that kept her thoughts from spinning round and round, again and again until she would be too dizzy to stay on her feet. The good soul was in the door, an expression of utter love in her eyes. And for a moment Cosette wanted to yell at her, how she could dare to look so happy when everyone she loved in this world, was about to die.

But then Toussaint spoke.

“I just met a friend of mine, on the market. She works for the baron Gillenormand.” The happy glowing in the old woman´s eyes increased even more, and for the first time in ages, as it seemed to her, Cosette felt her heart beat with glee again.

“She says,” Toissaint told her. “That the young man, Marius … he woke up.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As the old man entered his living room it was dark, save for the shady light that shone in through the window, from the street. He put down his bag, taking off his hat, decorated with all the glory a man of the force could earn, after reaching the respectable rank of an inspecteur général. 

After he´d lit the first candle of his lamp, beside the door, Javert rose from the armchair he´d waited in until now. When he stepped out of the dark, the old man swirled around, his hand reaching back, probably for the door handle, in order to retrieve quickly. But it never happened. 

Javert´s gaze was hard, cold as stone. And when the old inspector saw him, he let out a sigh of relieve.

“Dear God, Javert.” he panted, holding his chest. “You almost gave me a heart attack.”

“Hello, Gareaux.” Javert´s voice was cold, his gaze unyielding.

The gray eyes of the old man regained some of their awareness. “I´m glad to see you.” he told him, but

Javert remained straightfaced, unimpressed. 

“Are you?”

Gareaux´s expression showed a hint of sadness, but that could have been faked. Javert stepped closer, to see him better. He needed to make sure. And somehow Gareaux knew this. 

“You know why I´m here.” he stated, not a question, and Gareaux nodded, very serious.

“Yes. I know.”

Javert still didn´t show any expression other than coldness, staring Gareaux down. He had to give the old man that: he didn´t cringe. But this, once again, could mean what Javert suspected, nothing more. Delaying the inevitable was useless, so he asked him straight: “Are you with them?”

It shouldn´t hurt so much, to ask this question, his voice should not sound scared and sad. But it did.

Gareaux shook his head, sadly. “Oh, Javert. You should know me better than that, son.”

Javert held this gaze, boring into it, trying to read it, to find deception in it after all. But he failed. All he saw was truth. Just as he´d always seen it in this man. And something inside him broke, at this discovery. Maybe some things in this world were still the same after all. Maybe not everything was changed and gone to hell. If he could still trust in the integrity of someone. 

His chest loosened somewhat with the breath he took in, and if it hadn´t been for that he hadn´t even noticed how tensed he´d been.

“What is going on?” he asked. “Why does Gisquet want my death?”

“It´s not just your death that he wants.” Gareaux told him. “You´re just a small wheel in this whole apparatus, Javert.”

So it was true. Javert looked down, into the eyes of the man that had taught him almost everything he knew, about being just and a good police man. He looked into his eyes, and what he saw there scared him.

“Tell me what you know.” he asked anyway, and Gareaux sighed, shaking his head.

“I don´t know much.” he admitted. “Not enough at least.”

“Tell me anyway.”

The old man narrowed his eyes, as if trying to decide if he should. As if he wasn´t sure Javert would be able to handle the truth. But in the end he did speak.

“What do you think happened these last few weeks?” he asked. “This revolt. Do you think that just happened because of some angry kids?” he shook his head. “No. How do you think this General Lamarque got sick in the first place?” And before Javert could even work his way through this implication, Gareaux already spoke it out, plainly. “He was poisoned.” he said. “By someone close to him.”

For a moment Javert was just thunderstruck. Did he just hear right? 

Gareaux nodded. “They knew these kids would take the very first reason that would offer itself to them, to start their riot.” he lowered his gaze, shaking his head angry but sad. “The only one who probably could have stopped them with reasoning, was Lamarque himself.” he pointed out, leaving Javert even more lightheaded than he´d already been.

“Someone wanted this revolt?”

“For two reasons.” the old man affirmed, grimly. “To get rid of these kids … and of someone much higher up.” his gaze was so intense, when he once again shook his head, fuming on the inside. “This whole thing is much bigger than you can imagine.”

Javert remembered how to breath, just a moment before he would have forgotten it.

“Who wanted this?” he asked, but at this Gareaux lowered is gaze, in grim shame. 

“I don´t know their names.” he said. “Someone very powerful.”

“You must know something.” Javert pursued, and the old man looked up, with a small glimmer of hope in his eyes.

“I have a contact.” he told him. “She knows. I told her to ask around. Gather information. I haven´t heard of her yet.”

“Who?”

“Her name is Marianne. Marianne Póche. She has a pharmacy at Rue de la Joaillerie.”

Gareaux frowned, startled, as he noticed Javert´s reaction. How he stared at him, pale like a fish. 

“Marianne?” he could only breath the name, and his reaction finally made Gareaux understand.

“You know her?”

Javert had to make himself come out of this shock. That couldn´t be a coincidence. There were no coincidences. He looked at Gareaux, narrowing his eyes, and started to wonder. How much more did he hide from him?

“She´s dead.” he informed his old teacher, purposefully without mercy. “They killed her.”

It showed effect. The man before Javert paled. “Oh my God.” he groaned, and his shock seemed genuine. 

So he really hadn´t known? Javert wasn´t sure about anything anymore.

“You say she was your spy?”

“I … I knew her father well.” Gareaux seemed to still struggle with the news of her death. “And … She came to me. She had overheard a conversation between two men. She told me that there was a conspiracy. To make a revolt break lose. A revolt in which these men hoped many men would die. Soldiers. Revolutionaries. Police men.” He looked up at Javert, almost pleadingly. “I told Marianne to watch over you, and report to me if there was something worrisome.” he told him, as if this fact, his good will, would grant him Javert´s forgiveness.

But he was wrong. It wasn´t Javert´s forgiveness that he had to ask for.

The former inspector closed eyes. “So she knew who I was?” He met Gareaux gaze and the old man had no idea what he´d just done to him, telling this. “Did she report to you what happened that night after the barricades?” he wanted to know. He knew it probably didn´t matter. But he just couldn´t help himself. He needed to know.

“I haven´t spoken to her since the night before the barricades.” Gareaux replied, startled. “Why? What happened?”

Javert straightened, calling his heart to order. “Nothing.” he turned to stone once again, and demanded to know: “What did she tell you last time you saw her?”

“She told me what you planned to do. I tried to reach you, but you were unavailable.”

“I was undercover.”

“I know. I´m glad you made it out alive. Their arms might be long but gratefully not long enough to reach you there.”

Not as long as the arm of an ex-convict, Javert added in his mind, but forced it aside. 

“And Marianne knew who they were?” he continued the questions.

“She knew one of them. She didn´t tell me his name. She said she wanted to make sure her family was safe, before she gave me the information.”

“What family? I thought her parents are dead.” And for a moment Javert feared to hear of a husband next, maybe children. Why, for God´s sake? What difference would it make?

“She has a sister.” Gareaux told him. “And apparently this woman has a daughter. Still just an infant. She feared for their safety, so I promised her to get them out of the city. To a safe place. After that she agreed to meet me, to give me what I needed. But then the revolt began and we didn´t have a chance to speak again.”

Javert closed his eyes. “Then the information died with her.”

“Not necessarily.” Gareaux objected, still hopeful. “I know Marianne. She was very careful, very considerate. An information as important as this, is something she would have saved somewhere. Just in case something should happen to her.”

The old man looked at Javert, and only because he knew him for all these years, he noticed the change in the younger man´s face. The pain it had just caused in his chest to know that Marianne had actually expected not to make it out of this alive.

“I need to tell you some more, Javert.” Gareaux finally went on. “You need to be careful whom to trust. Right now no one is clean in my book. I have started to fear for my life. Just before you came I thought someone else was after me. I´m thanking God that it was you.”

Javert was irritated. “What do you mean?”

“Outside. In that alley. You really scared me for a moment, Javert.”

But Javert could only shake his head, in confusion. “I waited here for you, for hours.”

The realization came too late, for both of them. Before Javert even knew what had happened, a shattering sound broke the stillness of the room, as a bullet crushed through the glass of the window, spreading Gareaux´s collar with the darkest red. The old man fell down, his hand clutching his neck, and Javert could do nothing but hold him, watching as his old teacher died away.

Another bullet was fired, gratefully missing him by a few inches, and Javert took cover.

“Monsieur Gareaux!” someone yelled, and when Javert turned, he saw a lanky man, standing in the door to the kitchen, eyes wide. Gareaux´s servant. 

Javert didn´t wait for him to figure out how to react to this man with the bloody hands, standing over his dead master, and stormed out of the door. The shooter had to be close. He needed to find him. Before he could run.

But the servant had now decided what to do, much faster than Javert had hoped. He shouted for help, as if the devil himself was after his poor soul. Someone had killed his master, and was currently trying to run. And Javert was the only one who knew that the real murderer was not him.

“Who´s there?” he heard someone shout, at the end of the street, and when he turned around, he saw a police man. When the young officer heard the screams of the servant, he drew his pistol. And Javert ran.

He had no idea, where the others had come from, and why he cursed the fact that the police was so present in the streets at night, but the next thing he knew was that he was hearing the footsteps and voices of at least half a dozen police men, coming from behind him, from ahead, from everywhere.

His hands were still red from Gareaux´s blood. He was a wanted fugitive, had a target on his back already, they would not ask what had really happened. He knew. Oh God, he knew.

And then, when he knew he was cornered with no way to escape, someone grabbed him from out of the shadows, dragging him into a narrow alleyway. 

For a moment Javert expected an attack, maybe from the police, maybe from the shooter that had killed Gareaux, from anyone. But the hand that closed his mouth was gentle, not violent, and the eyes that stared at him in this dark corner were familiar too. 

Valjean had a finger over his own lips, his gaze tensed, as he listened and waited, until the men chasing Javert had passed their position. As soon as their footsteps were distant enough, they snuck away, vanishing into the dark.


	6. Message from beyond the Grave

Javert shook his hands, throwing off the water he just used to wash away the blood. And he was well aware of the irony that he washed his hands in the river Seine. The river that almost would have taken his own life away, if it had been his choice.

“What is this, are you my guardian angel now?” he asked, over his shoulder, not quite daring to fully look Valjean in the eyes. God, was all this really happening? It felt like hours, since they´d escaped from Gareaux´s house. But Javert knew that it was probably more like minutes. The perception started to elude a man when he went through something as traumatic as this. Seeing his old mentor die, by the bullet of an assassin, who was most likely sent by the same people who wanted him, Javert, dead.

God, what was wrong with this world? Javert ran a hand through his hair. He didn´t understand anymore. How could it come so far in only a few days?

“I´ve seen the man who did this.” Valjean told him, gravely, and Javert swirled around. “From far away. He was gone before I could catch up with him. But I think I´ve seen his face.”

For a moment Javert could barely believe what he heard.

“Would you recognize him?”

Valjean nodded.

“Good. Because I want this son of a bitch, you hear me? I want him to pay for this.”

He knew he was glaring, like the devil himself. A dangerous look, frightening for most. But all Valjean did was look at him, and allow him to breath, to get over his anger. His grief.

“I´m sorry about your friend.” he told him.

And Javert nodded. Nothing more. “Before he died … he told me there was a conspiracy.” he forced his mind into a less destructive order. “Some … very powerful people, who helped to actually ensure this revolt. He said they poisoned Lamarque, moved troops. I wouldn´t be surprised if they even supplied the revolutionaries with weapons and gunpowder. To make sure as many as possible would die at those barricades.”

“My god.” Valjean breathed, totally shocked at this idea. “Whhho would do something like that?”

Javert sighed. “He didn´t know any names. But he knew it had to be someone very high. In the military. The police.” He threw Valjean a poisonous glance but the other man didn´t make a comment about this. “Maybe even the city.” Javert finished. “Maybe someone close to the mayor.” At this he looked at Valjean with more care. “You were mayor once.” he recalled. “You must know these things.”

Valjean skipped back a little, uncomfortable under Javert´s stare, as if he had to be afraid of being caught telling a lie, even now.

“Who could do something like that?” the former inspector asked. “Who´d have the authority to give these kind of orders?”

“Ahm …” Valjean´s eyes looked about, as if searching for help along the abandoned riverbank. “That depends on the order.” he attempted an answer to this interrogation. “There are certain executive orders that require the seal and the hand of the mayor only. No one else could do this. But usually, if this is possible, things are done with minimal effort. To elevate efficiency and quantity. If something can be done without the mayor having to sign it by hand, a simple stamp or seal would be enough. And that is something everyone in the mayor´s office could get his hand on, if they know how.”

Javert nodded. “Except for the order to eliminate someone.” he mused, more to himself than to Valjean. “I´d say this would be strictly limited to the mayor´s hands only.” He halted, thinking again. “But a signature can be faked of course.”

“To … eliminate someone.” Valjean repeated, aghast. “You say that as if this sort of order is totally normal … for the mayor of a city.”

Javert regarded him, a little surprised. But then he smirked. “No.” he said. “Of course you never even heard of that. Never had to entertain the mere idea. Right, Monsieur Le Maire?”

“Of course not, Javert.” Valjean burst out. “It´s murder.”

“It´s called taking someone out.” the former police man informed him, but seeing the expression in the other man´s eyes, he felt ashamed after all. He´d never fully approved to these things, but had accepted them as necessary evils, in the line of duty. Things that could not be but still were right. He lowered his gaze, realizing something.

“Sometimes these things are done …” he attempted an explanation. “For the best of the country … and its people.”

“How can murder serve the best interest of the people, Javert?” Valjean objected, fiercely. And Javert gave him a warning glare, to not to approach this any further. But of course the old con could not stay away from this thin ice.

“Did you ever do this?” he demanded to know. “Did you ever … execute such an order?”

Javert glared even more now. “No.” he rasped, and instantly lowered his gaze. “But I know people who did.”

Valjean´s strength, gained by his anger over this scandal, vanished. “Oh my god.” he breathed, swaying a little. But as soon as it had started it stopped, and the life long fugitive looked back at his life long pursuer. “And now it is you, who is the target of this order.” he stated, as if he´d just remembered this fact. “Must feel strange to be on the other side all the sudden.”

“What do you think, Valjean?” Javert hissed, spitting out the name as if it were something poisonous. “What do you think?”

But Valjean didn´t seem to be effected by his old foe´s anger. All he did was hold Javert´s flashing gaze, with little more than a sigh. “I think we should make a plan.” he said, as if that question had been for real. “Because now every man of the guard will be looking for you. Not just some hitmen. Everyone. You are a convicted murderer now. And believe me. There are not many places on earth where you can hide.”

“I don´t intent to hide.” Javert replied. “I want them to pay.”

“You can´t make anyone pay, if you don´t know whom to hunt.”

“I might know how to find out a name.” the former inspector announced, already turning away from Valjean.

“How?” the other man asked, but Javert didn´t turn back to him.

“I need to go back to that pharmacy.” was all he said, leaving the river behind, knowing of course that Valjean would follow.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In his sickbed Marius looked so pale, as if there was no blood running through his veins any longer, and for a moment Cosette was sure, that his open eyes were dead, that he had died, just before she arrived and no one had noticed it yet. Her breath stopped at this thought, her heart ready to break. No, please. Fate couldn´t be that cruel. 

But then he blinked, his eyes stayed closed for a moment, before they opened again to a distance so far away, Cosette could only guess it.

He hadn´t noticed her yet. And for an instant she was uncertain if she should dare to enter, and disturb his solitude. As if this was something treasured that only belonged to him, and disturbing it would be a violation, far worse than love allowed it. Just like her father´s solitude had been his own in all these years. 

But even if she could have stayed here, unseen by him, eventually choosing to leave him alone, too scared to trespass into his world, the baron didn´t allow it.

“Marius.” the old man spoke, gently but firm, and Cosette jumped at the unexpected sound of this quiet voice beside her. “Here´s someone to see you.” he told his grandson.

Cosette´s heart started racing as Marius slowly turned his head, towards the voice. And without her noticing it, her feet started moving.

His eyes found her, but there was no change. He still looked as far away and withdrawn as he´d looked all this time before. Not even her smile seemed to reach him. The only reason why she knew he recognized her, was this little glimpse of pain that was shown in his eyes. The pain of recognition. 

She sat down, on the bed beside him and cupped his cheek, gently caressing it. 

“It´s me, Marius.” she spoke, hoping, praying for a sign that he was still with her. Still the one she´d fallen in love with. That his love for her hadn´t died in his illness. “Please.” she begged. “Please, I´m here now. You will be fine again.” Tears began to blur her vision. “I promise.”

The tear dropped out of her eye, sucked off by the already damp cover of the bed. “Please, Marius.”

If he would only say her name, say anything at all. But he didn´t. Couldn´t. Even though she saw that he was trying. But in the end he couldn´t speak. Only look at her with this oh so painful gaze of his. And then it was his tears who joined the sweat in his pillow. And all Cosette could do, was hold him, until it would be over.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Monsieur le Secrétaire.” Gisquet spoke, surprised, and Talbert turned around, posing as confident as possible. He knew what the police prefect wanted to ask, even before he spoke it out.

“What are you doing here?”

Talbert sighed, deeply. “I came here as soon as I heard. The death of an respected officer like Gareaux surely is worth a high priority investigation.” He faced Gisquet. “You being here personally at this hour, proves it.”

“Of course it is.” the prefect agreed at once, and shook his head, sadly. “I still can´t believe Javert really did this. I´d thought him capable of many things but this …”

“You already know the name of the murderer?” Talbert was genuinely shocked, for different reasons than the prefect might think, but still.

“He was seen by the servant.” Gisquet nodded. “And by the police men who chased him.”

“You caught him?” Talbert was concerned, only for a moment. Until a familiar voice spoke up behind him.

“Not yet.” Moreau stepped closer, joining them. “But we will. He can´t run forever. Monsieur le Secrétaire.” he bowed as if greeting him respectfully, and Talbert mirrored the mocking gesture, in front of the prefect.

“Monsieur Gisquet.” he addressed him again. “Please, do everything you can to find this man.”

“I will assign my best men.” Gisquet promised and Talbert nodded. 

“You will have the mayor´s support. Everything you need. You just need to ask.” Before Gisquet could address anything right away, Talbert excused himself, pretending to need fresh air, and walked out. He waited a few minutes, at the door, knowing that he wouldn´t be alone for long. And sure enough, Moreau joined him, a short time later.

“What happened?” Talbert demanded to know, without any transition. “I thought you had it all covered.”

“Javert happened.” was Moreau´s brusque answer, and Talbert could hear the “I told you so”, when he added: “He´s still here. Still investigating.”

The secretary ran a hand over his chin, smoothing the beard, as he always did when he was nervous. He nodded, trying to hide his tension in front of this man.

“Might have left the city my ass.” Moreau growled, and Talbert gave him a sharp glance.

“Watch your words.”

“I did everything you asked me to do. I even made sure that Javert being here would not interfere with our goal.”

“And you did well.” Talbert had to give him that. “Having someone to blame for this, was actually better than a nameless murderer on the run. Especially when it is Javert.”

“But he escaped. Someone helped him.”

Talbert halted, almost believing that he must have heard wrong.

“Impossible.” 

But Moreau´s gaze told him clearly, that he could indeed believe it.

“The man doesn´t have any friends.” Talbert recalled, as if the mere idea was ridiculous. “And right now every police man on the force knows that it would be suicidal for their careers and lives to even sympathize with him. So who on earth should be stupid enough to help him?”

Instead of answering him, Moreau stepped closer, leaning in patronizingly. “Maybe you don´t know as much about your target as you claim you do.”

Talbert, usually a man that knew the desk to be his fighting arena, stared into those arrogant eyes, and wished nothing more than to punch one of them to a heap of blue mousse. 

“He can´t evade us forever.” he stated, matter of factly. “We will find him, and shoot him down like a rabid dog.”

“You don´t even know where to look for him. He´s still evading you, still fighting you. And now he has help.” 

This time Talbert was not giving a response, and in his lack of a reaction to work with, Moreau took the next best approach. “Maybe you should talk to your contractee.” he suggested, and finally Talbert couldn´t control himself any longer.

“I don´t need to talk to him.” he hissed at the man before him. “I don´t need to talk to anybody. I need you to do your job right.”

“And I need to know what we´ll do if I can´t.” Moreau replied, not the least intimidated. “Because I don´t wanna go to prison for this. And I don´t wanna die either.”

“None of us will go to prison.” Talbert hissed, fed up with this. How often did they have to go over this? “We are acting for the good of the country.”

“I am.” Moreau stated, visibly testing Talbert´s position. He probably hoped to catch the secretary in a lie, that he was not as dedicated to their cause as he was. But Talbert would not do him the favor. This man had no idea what he was talking about.

“And right now, Javert is a danger to this country.” he went on, as if this interjection had never happened. “So would you please go out there and find him?”

Moreau didn´t say anything. He only glared, visibly having so much more to say. But eventually he nodded.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was strange to come back here, to this place. When he´d been here the first time, it had only been to not to be rude, after the baron had been so generous. One quick errand on his way home had turned into something so strange, Valjean could barely believe it was really happening. Was he really here now, in the middle of the night, and with Javert on top of this?

How? How had all this happened so fast? Was he really working with the man he´d been running away from all these years? Valjean didn´t understand. Was this real? Or was he trapped in a bad dream? Maybe he´d died of shock after bringing Marius home, and was now living in purgatory. Or maybe he´d fallen ill from all the filth he´d walked through that night. Maybe he was lying in a fever dream.

But the images were too clear for a dream, the night´s air too cold to not to be real. And the ache in his back and legs were still so current, it just had to be real. When one was dead, he didn´t feel pain. And neither did he in a dream. At least not as far as Valjean remembered.

They reached the pharmacy – the back door, which had served them as their escape path – and Valjean tried the handle. It didn´t open.

“It´s locked.” he told Javert and got shoved aside before he´d even finished.

“Stand guard.” Javert instructed him, kneeling down busily, and Valjean threw a brief glance over his shoulder. The street was abandoned so far. When he looked again, the former inspector was busy picking the lock, right here before his eyes. Valjean believed to dream after all.

A moment later the door was open and Javert vanished inside. What else could Valjean do but to follow him?

“I didn´t know you could pick a lock.” he spoke, quietly, while Javert lit a candle. And how did he know where to find it?

“There are many things about me that you don´t know.” he mentioned, while he waited for the little flame to catch and grow larger.

“No, of course not.” Valjean felt a little embarrassed. “I mean … you only hunted me all these years. We never came together, to just … talk.”

At this Javert looked up, over the flame of the candle, and his eyes seemed to burn too, in the shadows that seemed so much darker now, in the bright light of the candle. 

“And what would we possibly talk about?” he asked, one brow twitching. “24601.” 

Being addressed like that again, sufficiently silenced Valjean, which was probably exactly what the other man had intended. Javert turned away from him, illuminating the room. He spotted another candle and lit it too. 

After that his gaze fell down, to the ground, and the blood that was still there. To one spot in particular. Valjean noticed that this time the shadow over his face was not from the lack of light in here. But before he could say anything, the former inspector tore his eyes away from the floor and demanded: 

“Come on now. Start searching this place already.”

Valjean was still not sure though. “For what?”

“A note, a ledger. A notebook. A letter carved in stone for all I care. Just something that tells us who is behind all this. Gareaux said she´d keep something, to prove who this man was that she saw that day.”

Valjean watched Javert scanning the room with his eyes, briefly, before he turned to the little corner that was the kitchen and started to search the drawers. 

“Who was this woman?” Valjean dared to ask, looking about himself. There was a small bureau on the wall, but except for the lowest drawer which contained old clothing, all the drawers were stacked with paper bags and bottles, some empty, some filled with powder or liquid. All of them neatly labeled. “Except a pharmacist, I mean.” He threw a glance over his shoulder, to Javert. “How did you know her? I mean … you did … know her. You said …”

“That doesn´t concern you.” was the harsh response, and Javert marched through the room, through the door that obviously led to the bedroom.

“I was just trying to make some conversation.” Valjean closed the drawer. “No need to get snippy.”

Javert didn´t answer. He probably hadn´t even heard it. Valjean could hear him rummage in the other room. The bedroom of a woman he had known. Why did this idea startle Valjean so much? Maybe because Javert had never seemed to be one that socialized much. If he did it at all. And a woman even. He claimed not to care about her, but the gaze he´d thrown at the blood spoke otherwise. And so did Javert´s own words, back at Valjean´s house. He´d called her an angel. That she´d saved his life. She had meant something to him. So why did he deny this now? Valjean couldn´t understand this mindset. How could a man be so cold? Surely not even Javert could be made of stone, could he?

And then, all the sudden, the sounds of Javert´s searching stopped, and Valjean heard paper, faintly rustling. Instantly he was in the door. Javert sat on the bed, a piece of paper in hand, staring at it.

“What did you find?”

Javert didn´t answer, he just kept staring at the paper, so Valjean crossed the room – two steps, and he was beside him – to see for himself.

It was a drawing. A man´s face, rough but recognizable. As if it had been drawn from memory. The man was blonde, had intense eyes, thick eyebrows and a beard that covered only his chin. Rough at best but if Valjean would have to find this man in a crowd, he was sure he could. 

“Who is this?” he asked, but Javert shook his head. In his lack of another clue he turned the page around, taking a desperate chance that this would bring anything new. And he was surprised, just like Valjean, to indeed find something there. On the back were scribbled notes, single words, half sentences, that looked as if they were once pieces of a conversation. 

“Seems she did a lot from memory.” Valjean mentioned, watching the other man´s reaction closely. And hadn´t he known him for that long – the long periods of avoiding him, didn´t seem to matter in this regard – Valjean would have missed the little heave of breath Javert took in, as he turned his face to stone once again, in his effort to suppress whatever reaction this comment had caused in him.

He didn´t value the comment with a response. Instead he visibly turned back to the notes, reading through them, as if focusing on this, was the hardest thing in the world, something that required all his attention.

Valjean craned his neck, to read it too. It wasn´t much, and cryptic at best. But this woman, whoever she´d been had done her best to summarize what she´d heard.

 

unknown visitor: --- got Périer (?) --- dead ---  
le Officier: --- heard he died of Cholera --- (lie?)  
will find us too --- criminals (?) --- ways to find things from nothing --- found him, could find us  
Lamarc (?) as good as dead --- committed kids --- will use death as sign  
\--- poisoned him too slow ---  
faster would raise questions  
men ready?  
Of course. --- hope your friends will appreciate efforts --- as promised  
\--- will show their gratitude --- make sure the one responsible for the  
counterinsurgency won´t live  
\--- tries to get his position back --- won´t be able to resist --- play right into our hands

 

Most of those words didn´t mean anything to Valjean. It indeed sounded as if whoever this man – an officer of some sort – had been talking to, was plotting something. Something that would indeed lead to those battles at the barricades. Friends? Someone to show appreciation? So whoever these men had been they´d been hired by someone? Was that it?

Valjean tried to make heads and tails of this. This name at the beginning. Périer. He´d heard it before. A bankier, wasn´t it? He´d read about him in the Moniteur once or twice. Not the kind of person that would make it to his top ten favorites. If it was the same man, he´d been murdered, as it seemed. By someone … Someone who was at those people´s tail. Trying to stop them? 

Valjean sighed. It was all so unclear. Out of the context, these words could have meant anything. And he doubted that this woman had known much more about what she´d written down.

And yet, something among those words seemed to tell Javert something. Enough to startle him into looking up, tensed, all the sudden.

“What?” Valjean asked. “What is it?” 

Javert didn´t answer. He just jumped up, and rushed out of the room. “Come.” he ordered, already at the front door. Valjean could only hurry to catch up.

“Where are we going?”

Javert peeked out, checking the street. He glanced back at Valjean, only for a second, just long enough to answer his question. 

“We need to save a life.” 

And with that he was gone. Valjean, once again, had no choice but to follow.


	7. How to Save a Life

 

Javert didn´t speak anything on their way, except for the name of the man they were about to save. God, what did he expect them to do? Valjean was close to believe the former inspector had lost his mind at last. What in all these scribbled notes had given him the idea that this man, Lecomte, could be in danger? As far as Valjean had understood it, Lecomte had been the one responsible for the strange movements of troops, connected with the battles. Didn´t that rather mean he was one of their suspects? But obviously Javert saw it differently. Obviously he considered it more important to protect this man, instead of looking into his case.

The house he led Valjean to was small but very nice. Definitely one of the better places in Paris. There were only two lights left, that late at night. One in a room upstairs and one in a small window on the ground floor. Probably the chamber of a servant.

Javert led them to yet another back door, and drew a gun from under his coat, handing it to Valjean.

“I know you know how to use one of these.” he said. “Only not how good you are. Just try not to hit me. Or yourself. Understood?”

With this he turned away, not caring about how startled he´d just left Valjean, and once again got busy with the lock of the door. 

The gun felt heavy in Valjean´s hands, more heavy even than the gun he´d held at the barricades, supposedly to shoot the spy Javert with it. Only this time Javert had put it into his hands, and for a moment Valjean actually wondered if it was even loaded. Surely this was some sort of test. Javert could not seriously trust him enough to hand him a loaded gun. Maybe he´d lost his mind after all.

The door went open as willingly under the skilled hands of the former inspector, as the first he´d picked in this night. Valjean´s heart leaped into his throat, as he followed him inside. Last time it had been an abandoned place, of a dead woman. Now they were truly trespassing into an occupied home. Not quite what he´d imagined doing, or being connected with. And that after all those years of laying low, avoiding to break the law and draw attention. What was he doing here?

Javert led them upstairs, with certain steps, as if he´d been here before. Maybe he was. This Lecomte was a police man after all, probably a colleague. Maybe a superior. One of those who ordered Javert´s death? And at this a dreadful thought crossed Valjean´s mind. 

We need to save a life, Javert had said. Maybe, in the end, he´d not talked about this man, Lecomte, but himself. Maybe Javert had come here with the plan to kill Lecomte, to save himself, and blame the murder on him, Valjean. Was that the reason why he´d handed him the gun?

But this thought came too late for him to stop and turn around. They´d already reached the writing room of this unsuspecting Capitaine Lecomte. For a second, Valjean played with the thought to call out a warning, but it was too late even for that. Javert opened the door, almost casually and drew a second gun from under his coat.

The man sitting behind his desk, over a heap of papers, looked up, probably expecting his servant, and paled when he saw who´d really entered.

“Javert!” he cried, instantly reaching under the table. Valjean heard the sound of a drawer. 

“Lecomte.” Javert nodded, with an arched brow, aiming his gun at the man as if it was a simple gesture of politeness. “I bet you a good evening, Capitaine. I´m here to save your life.”

The next thing Valjean knew was that Lecomte was holding a gun too, aiming it at Javert. “That is hard to believe from a man that aims a gun at me.” he said. “You´re a wanted fugitive, Javert. A murderer.”

“I didn´t kill Gareaux.” Javert stated. “You should know me better than that.”

“His most loyal servant saw you.” Lecomte returned. “Running from his corpse, red handed.”

“He saw nothing that really mattered.”

Javert had started this last statement, shouting, but forced himself to talk quietly after the first word. Only the redness in his face, showed how he really felt. 

When he was finished, the two men just stared at each other in silence, as if none of them knew how to go on. And Valjean, trapped right in the middle of this without knowing why, took it upon himself to speak and clear this situation. Someone had to do it, for cry out loud.

“I saw the real shooter.” he told Lecomte. “Javert is speaking the truth.”

Or at least I hope so, he added in his mind.

Lecomte considered his words, for a moment, regarding Javert carefully. The former inspector was unreadable. At least to Valjean. And to Lecomte too, as it seemed.

“Tell me how I´m supposed to believe you, under such circumstances.” the Capitaine demanded, and finally Javert reconsidered his tactic. A moment went by, then another. Eventually Valjean had the honor to watch in amazement, how Javert took down his gun and lay it on the edge of Lecomte´s desk.

Everything inside him tensed, unsure what to expect next. Would Lecompte shoot now, disregarding Valjean´s gun? Would Javert attack, having only distracted Lecomte with this surrender? Would he draw a third, hidden gun?

But all Javert did, was spreading his arms, to the officer. “If you want to shoot me, go ahead.” he spoke. “But that won´t save you. Or solve this riddle.”

Lecomte frowned, very slightly, at this. “Save me from what?”

“You are on a list, my friend.” Javert told him. “We both are. They already tried to kill me, and they succeeded in killing Gareaux. Now it is your turn.”

Lecompte´s mouth twitched in a smirk, and his eyes checked Valjean´s gun for a moment. The only threat left for him in this room. He seemed to estimate his chances well, before shaking his head. Just as he was about to do something, Valjean wasn´t sure what – speaking, shooting, even laughing – Javert spoke again.

“You didn´t by any chance, give some orders concerning troop movements lately, did you, Francois?”

Lecomte´s eyes darted to Valjean again, before he answered: “No.” The Capitaine rose from his seat, very self conscious, and Javert cocked a brow. 

“Well, someone did. And I´m sure you know who. There are only a few people who could speak in your name, giving such orders. And as soon as you find out, you´d be a risk that can´t be tolerated any longer. Since they have already started to clean up, I don´t think they would have waited until you found out on your own.”

“Who are you talking about?” Lecomte wanted to know. “Do you know who they are?”

“This is the second reason why I´m here. The man who is behind all this will be here soon. I want to get him.”

“So this is only about your revenge?” Valjean couldn´t stop himself, the words were out of him before he knew it.

Javert glanced at him from the corner of his eye. “This man can tell us who´s behind all this.” he clarified. “We need to question him. This … is why I´m here.” 

Lecomte thought very hard, for a moment. “So you don´t have any names, just yet.” he asked, for one last confirmation.

“We will have a name soon.” Javert promised and as if on cue, there was a noise downstairs. Clattering as if something got thrown down.

“You believe us now?” Javert faced Lecomte. “They´re staging it like a robbery.”

Valjean inched to the door, listening. “I hear at least three men.” 

There was the muffled voice of a man, startled, probably the servant, and then muffled cries of panic, as he got overpowered. Valjean tensed, and reached for the door handle. Only Javert wouldn´t let him.

“No.” he blocked his way. “This is what they want.” As they heard footsteps coming up the stairs, he quickly looked around. “Take cover.” he commanded, and took his gun again, from the desk. Lecomte already took cover behind the desk, and in his lack of another place to hide, Valjean followed.

“You pick out the leader for me.” Javert ordered him. “Take out the others.” 

With that he marched back to the door, his gun at the ready, and for a moment he just stood there, waiting for them. In the very last second he reconsidered and took his position beside the door, his back flattened against the wall. And this turned out to be the right decision. The footsteps halted just outside, and instead of entering the room, three shots were fired through the closed door. Had Javert still been there, he´d been dead.

Valjean met Javert´s gaze, and Javert stamped down his foot, imitating the sound of someone dropping dead. The door opened and three men stood there, startled to say the least to see no bleeding man on the ground before them. 

Javert threw Valjean an expecting glance, but he could only shake his head.

“It´s neither of them.” he told them, and his words finally made the men understand, that there was someone lurking for them, behind the door.

One of them aimed at Valjean, and Valjean, more reacting by instinct than by conscious choice, pulled the trigger. The man fired his shot but too late. He didn´t hit anything, and dropped to the ground, holding his chest, in disbelieve.

Beside Valjean the Capitaine shot too, and another man dropped dead. The third one was at Javert. Or Javert at him, Valjean was unable to tell. Until the arm of the strange attacker got pushed down, and the last shot echoed in the room. The man tensed, staring at Javert, and slowly dropped to the ground, still holding his guts.

Javert leaned over him, hasted. “Listen to me, man. You´re hit in the abdomen. You will bleed to death from the inside. This is a painful death. And very slow. If you tell me what I want to know I´ll make it quick for you, I promise. Who are you working for?”

Valjean watched with dread, how the man turned his head, to look at his dead comrades. His eyes were already half closed, but he was still very conscious.

“I only receive the orders … from a messenger.” he told Javert. “We don´t use names, you should know that …”

“And who´s your delivery man? Where can I find him?”

“You can´t. There are too many.” Javert grabbed the man´s collar but failed to intimidate him. “I told you what I know.” was all he´d get.

“Who´s next in line, after you?” Javert demanded. “Come on, give me something.”

But he didn´t get what he wanted.

“You gave me your word.” the man coughed, through bloody teeth.

Javert was fuming at this lack of information. Valjean expected him to beat the man, in his frustration. But he didn´t. He just let go of him. 

“Yeah.” he affirmed, and got up, taking his gun.

“Javert.” Valjean´s heart stumbled, in fear, but Javert didn´t even react.

Beside Valjean Lecomte held out his arm, to keep Valjean away. And by the door, Javert aimed his gun at the already dying man. There was nothing in his eyes but coldness, when he pulled the trigger, sending a bullet into a man´s heart. 

For a moment Valjean felt numb, the echo of the shot still resounding in his ears, followed by a faint ringing, that lasted strangely in the deadly silence that followed. The footsteps of Lecomte approaching Javert seemed to come from far away. So did his voice when he asked: “What are we doing now?”

Javert took a moment to think about this.

“You should report a robbery.” he decided at last. “After all. This is what this was supposed to look like. And then you should leave the city. Disappear for a while.”

Lecomte nodded. “I will see what I can find out from afar.” he promised. “If I do, you´ll hear from me.” When he offered Javert his hand, the other man did not accept it. Maybe he was not completely cold about what he´d just done, after all. Surely he had to feel something, after murdering a man like this. Only Valjean couldn´t see it. He saw nothing.

Eventually Lecomte lowered his hand again. “Thank you, my friend.” he spoke, and yet again, Javert did not react.

Outside there were voices now, and Javert´s eyes found Valjean. “We should take our leave.” he said, but Valjean couldn´t move.

“Where will you go?” Lecomte asked. “In case I need to find you.”

The former inspector thought for a moment, considering. “I believe it is better if you don´t know that.” he then replied. “Don´t worry. I will reach you somehow.”

The Capitaine seemed hesitant. But then there were voices again, downstairs, and someone who called out: “Police!”

No time for any of them to reconsider anything. 

Reluctantly Lecomte hurried outside, and Javert took Valjean´s arm, dragging him behind. He indeed knew this house, because the way they took to get out was different than the one they´d taken to get in. A narrow staircase in the back, hidden from view. Valjean just followed, numb and out of pure survival instinct. He thought of Cosette, and that she expected to see him again. He could not get arrested. Not with this man in tow. It would be just a joke of fate, if he´d allow this.

When they were back in the streets, and safe from discovery, Javert finally stopped dragging him behind, and turned to look at him. When he noticed the gun was still in Valjean´s hands, he reached out with a faint smirk and took it. As if he´d be doing him a favor.

“So now …” he asked, as if Valjean´s pale complexion was even amusing him. “How does it feel? To have taken a life instead of saving one?”


	8. Three Weeks Later

 

The day was light, the sun shining brightly from the blue sky, as Valjean watched his daughter lead the boy through the garden of his grandfather´s house. Marius had gotten better each day, and it was more than just obvious that it was Cosette´s presence that kept him going, healing him faster than any medicine could do it. He was still limping but he walked better, day by day. Soon he´d be recovered, Valjean could tell. Soon he´d walk strong enough again on his own, to take Cosette´s arm instead. And with that her hand.

Valjean closed his eyes. He wished he could be happy for them. But all he could feel was dread. Not even the sunny day could cheer him up. His chest was tight, and it had been tight these last three weeks. Ever since that awful night, at the house of one Capitaine Lecomte.

He´d not heard of Javert ever since they´d parted that night, and he did not intent to seek him out. As far as he was concerned the former inspector could stay wherever he was, hiding from his pursuers or hunting for them in his bloodlust. Valjean didn´t care. He didn´t want to have anything to do with it. This one time had been enough. Especially after the disappearance of poor Toussaint´s friend and her husband. 

People said they had left the city for family matters, but somehow Valjean didn´t dare to believe that. They had asked questions for Javert and now they were gone. He had followed Javert and three men had died. Right after the man Javert himself had questioned got killed in the inspector´s presence. And this poor pharmacist … she too had died. It seemed as if death was following wherever this man went. Valjean´s soul got ice cold just thinking of it.

Cosette´s heartily laughter echoed through the garden, joined by that of Marius and the baron. Yes, those people were happy. At least someone who could be. The blessing of unawareness. May it always remain that way. May they never learn. Never.

“Monsieur?” the old Madame Pontier addressed him, and Valjean flinched, out of his dark musing. “There´s a …” she halted, briefly. “A man who wants to see you.” 

He could tell that she had been about to use the word gentleman, but had changed her mind, just before the word had left her tongue. There was something strange in her eyes, distaste maybe, as if the person she referred to did not quite fit her idea of a suitable person at all. Or maybe a presentable person?

“Who is it?” he asked, getting up from his seat.

She only shook her head. “He didn´t say his name, Monsieur.” The old lady tried unsuccessfully to hide her disgust. The man in question had to be something … unusual. Not the sort of guest these people were used to.

Valjean followed her back inside, curious to say the least, and naturally headed for the front door. Mme Pontier stopped him though, and gestured for the back. Her gaze was tensed. Valjean could tell that she didn´t feel well about the idea of him actually going to see this … man. And just thinking of what had happened these last few weeks, Valjean felt uncomfortable about the idea as well. 

Could it be Javert? He was definitely a man who would cause a reaction like this at an old woman. Only it hadn´t been fear Valjean had seen in her eyes. The expression he´d seen, was more about disgust, and he knew that sort of disgust only from people who despised certain degrees of poverty. People who felt uncomfortable around those who could not afford to bath each day, or change their old clothes. People who maybe feared to catch an illness from the poor. And none of this was anything Javert would represent. 

Curiosity eventually got the better of Valjean. Whoever this man was, he must have a reason to seek him out. The question how this person knew that he was here, at this hour, didn´t occur to him – yet. 

He reached the back door. It was standing ajar, just a bit, and he could see the man waiting there, in the backyard. He had his back to Valjean, as if the street was more interesting than the yard. He wore old, used up clothes, dirty and ripped in many places. His skull was almost without hair and the beard, Valjean could see, even from behind, was thick, and not well-tended. 

His guess had been correct then. Madame Pontier´s reaction had been about the social status of his man. A beggar maybe, that had heard of him being a generous giver? Sometimes they found their ways to the doors of people. If they had the courage to knock. Some of them even made a science out of this, Valjean knew. With secret signs they drew on the walls, so others of their trade would know if it was worthwhile to knock on this door, or wiser to stay away from another. Was this man one of them?

Valjean cleared his throat. “Monsieur?”

The man swirled around, startled by his voice, and Valjean faced two hideous eyes. Steel blue and just as piercing as he remembered them. 

“My god.” he exclaimed as he stared at Javert, in utter shock.

The man that once had been a police inspector chuckled, amused. “Well, if that isn´t a nice greeting.”

Before Valjean knew what was happening, Javert shoved him inside, out of public sight. If anyone would come past this spot that was.

“What happened to you?” was all Valjean knew to ask, and this time the reaction he got, was a startled one.

“What?” Javert retorted, and spread his arms, indicating his appearance. “This was your idea. Now it disturbs you that I actually took your advice?” He shook his head, checking the hallway for listeners, all in one move. “Seriously, Valjean. Sometimes I wonder if anything ever satisfies you.”

An angry huff escaped Valjean´s throat. “What do you want here? How do you even know where I was?”

“You and your daughter came here every day these last two weeks.” Javert rolled his eyes. “It wasn´t that hard to guess.”

“Are you spying on us?”

“It´s called observance. And logical thinking. The girl´s in love and you would never bring it over you to deny her anything. So of course you´re here every day.”

Once again Valjean felt this sensation in his chest. One he had believed not to be capable of anymore. Aversion. 

“What do you want?” he asked, his voice cold and hard. Javert had to feel quite at home with this. But he barely reacted to it, ignoring the hostile tone.

“I need your help.” he told Valjean. “I believe I found the man who shot Gareaux. But I need you to tell me for sure.”

Valjean narrowed his eyes, unable to believe what was happening here. This man really expected him to just come running, now that he showed up at his doorstep, after he clearly didn´t want to have anything to do with him these last three weeks. As if nothing at all had happened. As if he had a right to just command him, to do his bidding.

“No.” he told him, cold and clear, and finally Javert reacted. He actually had the nerve to be surprised. “I´m not helping you anymore.” Valjean stated. “I´m not helping you to murder any more people. You already made me a murderer.”

“I didn´t make you anything.” Javert hissed, into his face. “It was your choice to pull the trigger. You could have let this man shoot first and maybe kill us all, but you didn´t. You took the smart choice and now you beat yourself up because of it?”

“I guess shooting someone to death is something very familiar to you, but it is not for me.”

Valjean looked into those cold, uncaring eyes, and it felt like a slap in the face, when Javert started to smile and chuckle.

“Now look how things have changed.” he sounded almost satisfied. “The ex convict is afraid to be corrupted by the police man.”

“You´re not a police man anymore.” Valjean corrected. He gave him the once over, not able to hide his abhorrence. “I´m not sure anymore, what you are.”

From one moment to the next the calm and mocking man was gone, replaced by a furious one, and Javert grabbed Valjean, by the collar, keeping him from turning away.

“Then join the club, Valjean.” he hissed, and the flashing of his eyes gave Valjean a fright, for a moment. “You think this is what I wanted to become?” the former police man snarled. “You think I run around like this by choice? I never wanted to go back to this.” Something inside Valjean instantly caught this inbetween sentence, storing it away for later, when he was free again to think clearly. For now the inspector was still in his face. “But something is going on.” Javert recalled for him. “And this something demands some sacrifices.” 

“Like the life of a man, who would have needed a doctor instead of a bullet in his heart?” Valjean didn´t know how he managed it to let his voice sound even, but somehow he´d hit the mark. Javert let go of him.

“This man would have died anyway, with or without a doctor, you know that as well as I do. I only did him a favor.”

“You can tell that yourself as much as you want.” Valjean straightened his jacket. “I´ll not get involved in any of this.”

“You already are involved, Valjean.” Javert stated, matter of factly, but Valjean was adamant. He turned away, to leave, to return to Cosette and Marius, and the happy life they would have soon.

“You read the papers?” Javert asked, behind him, and Valjean halted. “You know that the mayor´s chief of staff has resigned. In favor for someone new.”

Valjean, once in his life a mayor himself, felt something stir in his guts, and turned back around. Javert was smiling.

“You know how these things work.” he nodded. “You know that this is no coincidence.”

Valjean looked about, for any listener that might be there, before he returned to the uninvited guest.

“What do you want from me, Javert?” he hissed, fed up with this game.

Javert smiled triumphantly, only for a moment. “Identify the shooter for me.” he demanded.

“What will you do to him, if I do?”

“Question him.”

“How?”

“However I have to, to make him talk.”

But Valjean shook his head. Not good enough. Not after that night. When he turned away again, Javert wouldn´t let him. He grabbed him, with an iron claw. 

“This is about more than just a single life, Valjean.” he hissed. “Don´t pretend that you´re so above everything. You need to get out of your pretty little life. Stop telling yourself that running away will solve your problems. You can´t hide from your problems. And you can´t outrun them either. We both have a duty to fulfill here, and whether you like it or not, whether I like it or not, we´re both in this together. And you will help me solve this, do you understand? That much at least you owe me.”

After that he let go of him again, but something about the way he´d said this last sentence, had startled Valjean, deep inside, on a place he couldn´t even name. Something about the former inspector´s tone, and the expression in his eyes, had grabbed his conscience and wouldn´t let him go, even now that he was free again. He had no idea how Javert had managed it to capture him like that, only with a gaze. Something he had never managed in almost twenty years. And now he couldn´t just walk away from him. How? Why?

Valjean didn´t know the answer. All he knew was that eventually he nodded, and that Javert mirrored this nod. If he understood it or not. They had a deal.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Moreau exited the station-house, glad to finally get away from this idiot Marcel, behind his stupid desk and his even more stupid stack of files. It had been just a drunk that had peed against a house. Who needed a report for his arrest? In two days he´d be back on the street, drunk again, peeing against the next house, only to be picked up and thrown into the next drunk cell. Idiots. Drunks. Vermin wherever the gaze went. Sometimes he hated this place.

“Stressed?” a voice asked beside him, and Moreau managed a tired smirk. 

“Did you meet Marcel?” he asked, and Felix the young Sergeant laughed.

“I think I heard of him. But don´t worry. He´s only on the day shift. Having him in the night shift would be worse.”

“Oh God.” Moreau groaned, only by the idea of it. Imagining how much more complicated everything would become if Marcel would insist on a report for each whore they arrested at night, for inappropriate behavior. For every drunk that shouted at a citizen for no reason, for every thief that used the cloak of darkness for his deeds, every bunch of street rats that got in a brawl. Dear God, wasn´t there a way to get rid of Marcel, quickly and quietly? He could wait until he walked home … the streets were dangerous at night. 

“I´m just glad this pop eye is gone.” Felix mentioned, interrupting Moreau´s sweet day dream. “That guy really started to get on my nerves.”

“Who do you mean?” was there a new colleague in the district he hadn´t noticed yet?

“A What is more like it.” Felix replied. “A beggar, but what an example. He was here all day.”

“Was he molesting you?” Moreau smirked. “Threaten him with prison, that usually scares them off.”

“He wasn´t begging for money. Just hung about here, gawking. Seriously, as if he had nothing better to do. I swear to you, I was so close to actually make up some charges, anything to get rid of this guy.”

“But he´s gone now, right?” Moreau searched the place.

“Yes, thanks God.” Felix exclaimed. “I know we´re not supposed to make up charges.” he added, suddenly afraid Moreau could have taken him serious. “I was just kidding.”

“Never mind this.” Moreau set his mind at rest. “I know how stress can get to you.” He gave his young colleague an understanding gaze. “You ever heard the name Marcel?” he asked, to prove his point.

And Felix laughed.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Javert peeked around the corner, just long enough to see the man in question, pad his colleague on the back, before making his way over the place, looking around suspiciously. As if he felt watched. How right he was.

Javert dragged Valjean to the corner, hurridly. “Is that him?” he asked, and Valjean looked.

He took his time, and Javert had to restrain himself not to shout at him to get it done already. But eventually Valjean nodded.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. It was way darker back then but … yeah. It is him. He has a scar that I recognize.”

“All right.” Javert was satisfied. He threw a glance at the man again, just as he vanished out of sight.

“What will you do now?” Valjean wanted to know.

“I´ll wait for him. I know where he lives.”

“I´ll go with you.”

Javert faced the other man, frowning. “I thought you didn´t want to have anything to do with my methods.”

“And that hasn´t changed.”

Javert understood “You think you can protect this man from me?” He couldn´t help but had to laugh at this. “Well, if that isn´t cute.” His smile vanished as quickly as it had come, and the former inspector peeked around the corner, one more time. Moreau hadn´t come back. No one payed attention to them. Good.

He turned back to Valjean, still so determined, uncompromising. He truly wouldn´t let Javert do this alone. Wouldn´t give him free hand with this man´s life. Dear God.

“All right then …” Javert nodded. “Partner.” And he padded Valjean´s shoulder, a little too hard maybe for comfort.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Madame Pontier?” Cosette addressed the elderly servant. “Did you see my father? He was here just … a while ago.”

“Oh Monsieur Fauchelevent left.” Pontier answered, already hurrying on, but Cosette stopped her.

“Left? Where to? Why didn´t he say anything?”

“Cosette?” Marius limped closer to them, frowning about his love´s anguish all the sudden.

“Do you know where he went?” Cosette just kept asking the servant, and Pontier shook her head.

“No, Mademoiselle. Not where to.”

Cosette knew instantly what the unspoken implication was. “But you know with whom.”

The poor servant cast down her eyes. “There was a … a man. He asked to see your father. Probably wanted to beg some alms from him.”

For a moment Cosette was off balance. Alms? Pontier sounded as if she talked about a beggar. But that couldn´t be right. She could feel, deep in her bones that it was Javert, who had kidnapped her father.

“Cosette, what´s the matter?” Marius finally reached her, resting on his crutches. But Cosette didn´t know what to tell him. Other than: “Papa has left. He …” and that was as far as she managed to get.

Marius saw that something more was troubling her, she could see that in his eyes. But of course he couldn´t know what it was. How could he? He hadn´t been there, that night, when the inspector had come to their house. He hadn´t seen his cold eyes, hadn´t heard his cruel words. He didn´t know that her father was in danger. In grave danger. 

“Cosette.” Marius reached out for her, concerned, as he saw her inner turmoil getting worse and worse. “Please, what is it?”  
But all she could do was shake her head.

“Please, Madame Pontier.” she addressed the servant again. “Tell me instantly when he returns. Will you?”

And the elderly lady nodded, startled. “Of course I will.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

Valjean was glad that for a change they didn´t wait until it got dark to go through with this plan. Obviously Javert didn´t think it necessary to use the cover of the night. Or he simply got impatient. In any case it wasn´t a healthy combination. Neither was the house this man Moreau lived in.

The front door was already hanging askew and the condition of the stairwell was even worse. Valjean could see three steps alone on the first flight that were uneven, the plaster fell off the walls and when he looked up there was a wooden beam, holding the next flight, so rotten it would probably give in with the next best ball, thrown by a playing kid, bringing it all down. Was Javert really sure they were in the right place?

He seemed to be. As soon as they reached the first floor at the end of this long and rotten stairs, he turned to one of the doors, with great certainty, and knelt down, to open it. Once again, like a professional, with skills so remarkable, it so didn´t fit the picture of a just man of the police.

“You never told me where you learned to do that.” Valjean mentioned as soon as they were inside.

“No.” was all Javert would respond. “I didn´t.”

Valjean sighed. “Are you sure he lives here? This house looks like it would break down when someone looks at it the wrong way. Do police men earn that little?”

Javert only gave him a look. “This is his place.” was all he´d say. Nothing more. And Valjean just didn´t have the heart to poke any further. 

He had never put much thought into how much a police man got payed for his duty. A duty that as well could cost his life. Like Javert had almost lost his life behind the barricades. Like many of his man did lose theirs on the barricades. And now that he looked about this poor excuse of an apartment, it was obvious that the man who lived here could not earn that much money. No wonder, some of them used all the power the state gave into their hands, merciless and hungrily. 

Valjean had seen Javert do it. But he´d also seen others do it, much worse than Javert. If Javert´s home was only a little better than this, he was more than just a fanatic cop. If his worldly reward was that small, there must be some higher motivation for him than simply doing his job. Because Valjean knew – he just knew – that Javert, unlike others, had never lost his sense for right and wrong. That´s what Valjean had always admired about the inspector. That´s what he´d always respected. And now that he was standing here, in this hole of an apartment, he remembered again why. 

Javert glanced at him, noticing his frown, and asked a brusque: “What?” 

Valjean only shook his head. “Nothing.” he claimed. “Nothing.”

Javert studied him for another moment, suspiciously, as if trying to catch Valjean with a lie. Always the inspector. But Valjean didn´t give him anything to work with – always the fugitive. And so Javert turned away from him, searching the place, methodically. And yet another thing he seemed accustomed to. Searching apartments. What other routines had this police man gathered over the years?

When he found what he wanted – what man kept a rope under his bed? – Javert went to the chair at the tiny desk, and started to tie the rope around the armrests and the backrest. Ideal to bind someone quickly and efficiently, as soon as their victim arrived. 

Valjean felt a knot in his stomach. He tried his best to remind himself that the man they were waiting for, was probably a criminal. Worse. A murderer. He´d seen him shoot a man through a window himself. So why did he feel so uncomfortable at the idea of attacking and binding him to a chair? Maybe because of what would happen to the man after that?

He didn´t get the chance to think this through. There were footsteps outside, in the staircase, and a moment later someone put a key into the lock. Javert jumped, and hurried to the door. He gestured for Valjean, and of course Valjean had no choice but to comply. He was here. He had agreed to this. There was no going back now.

When the door opened, they attacked, and it was surprisingly easy to secure the man. Moreau struggled, but against the two of them, especially Valjean, he had no chance. Only a minute after he´d entered his own apartment unsuspecting, he was bound to his chair, glaring up at the two intruders, furious.

Javert noticed his lack of fear too.

“You know who I am.” he stated, a little surprised about the missing reaction of a man that clearly had to know he was in trouble now.

“Indeed.” Moreau hissed, and gave Javert the once over. Unbelievable but he actually managed it, even in his position, to look arrogant. “Although I would have never guessed that you could let yourself go like that, inspector.”

Javert leaned over the man, hands on his wrists for emphasis. “If I were you I´d start to take this a little more serious.” he hissed.

“Oh, I am taking this serious.” Moreau replied, unimpressed. “You are the one who doesn´t seem to realize how serious this is. Otherwise you would have left the city by now. Maybe even the country.”

Valjean saw the realization creep into the former inspector´s gaze.

“What is all this about?” he demanded to know. “Speak now.”

But Moreau only shook his head, and the gesture spoke loud and clear: No chance, buddy. 

Javert straightened, looking down on the man before him. The man that was at his mercy just now.

“I don´t think they´re paying you enough money so you´re ready to die for these people.” he spoke, but failed yet again to intimidate the man.

“I´m not only doing this for the money.” Moreau stated, fiercely. “Or why do you think I´m still here, even after you killed three of my men? I am a patriot. Just like you. Only I am not on a black list.”

“Black list?”

“Why do you think they wanted you dead? You think this story about blaming someone for the barricades is true? That this is all there is to it?” Moreau snorted. “And we were actually concerned you could be dangerous.”

Valjean flinched more than Moreau did, when Javert grabbed the man´s throat. “I´ll show you how dangerous I can be.” he snarled into his face. “Why did they want me dead? And who are they?”

“You were the perfect blame.” Moreau smirked, triumphantly, as he told him this. “They know where you come from, it was easy to pin all this on you.”

There again. Valjean heard it instantly, and he was not surprised anymore about Javert´s reaction, when he let go of the man before him, his hand suddenly weak in his shock.

“You think it was coincidence that Gareaux died when you were with him?” Moreau went on, mercilessly. “And this woman?”

This at last brought Javert back around, and he narrowed his eyes at Moreau.

“You … You were the one who killed Marianne.”

Moreau shrugged. “In a matter of speaking. You can kill someone with a knife. Or a word.”

Again Javert was at him. “So you can give an order, but actually doing it with your own hands is something too dirty for you?” he hissed.

“Spare me the lecture about her.” Moreau replied, fearlessly. “You can´t seriously think that she was innocent.”

“I know she was a spy for Gareaux.” Javert deflected the argument, but Moreau shook his head.

“No. That´s too simple, inspector. Or do you really think she saved your sorry ass from jumping off that bridge, because she thought it was her duty?” Valjean´s head snapped around, staring at Javert. “Or because she liked you so much?” Moreau went on, and Javert choked him, harder this time.

“How do you know about that?” he demanded to know.

And all Moreau did was smile at him, smugly. “What do you think?” he croaked under the angry man´s grip. “She told me. Just before she died. Not everyone can stand pain, inspector. And you will know that pain is a good way to loosen someone´s tongue.”

There was something poisonous in Javert´s eyes, when he replied, coldly: “Indeed.” 

And the next thing Valjean knew was, that Javert had drawn a knife, and stabbed it, without a warning, into the bound man´s shoulder. 

Moreau screamed, in pain, his eyes wide with agony, and all Javert did was holding the knife in the wound, his face distorted with anger.

“Who do you work for?” he shouted the question at the panting man. And Moreau glared up at him.

“You know I can´t tell you.” He held Javert´s death glare, amazingly brave, considering the pain he must be in. “I would never betray my country.” he stated. “Just like you would never betray the uniform you used to wear.”

Valjean watched with dread, how Javert´s face was frozen with this expression of hate and anger, as he turned the knife, inside the wound, inflicting more pain yet again. And once again Moreau screamed.

“Dare you talking to me about honoring the uniform.” Javert spoke, full of hate. “You are a traitor to this uniform, to this whole country.”

“No, I´m not.” Moreau panted, turning his head to look up at him. “You are. Or you will be. When we´re done, you´ll be the worst traitor this country has ever seen. If you kill me or not.”

“Why?” Valjean heard himself ask, startling not only the two other men. “Why him?”

Javert and Moreau both looked at him, as if they just now remembered him being there.

“Because they knew he´d never help them.” Moreau answered, and turned back to face Javert. “You´re just … too honest, inspector. Too honorable, too impossible to bribe. They knew you´d fight them and they just couldn´t have that.”

“So … this whole … try to assassinate me was just …”

“A precaution.” Moreau affirmed. “True to the motto: If you can´t make them work with you, make sure they can´t fight you. If you hadn´t escaped us, Gareaux would have died the same day. The broken inspector kills his friend after a breakdown caused by his failure at the barricades, and hangs himself out of guilt. Case closed. Only you had to struggle.”

Javert grabbed his throat again. “Who´s behind all this?” he asked, and when Moreau only laughed, he reached into his wound. “TELL ME!” 

“Javert.” Valjean took the other man´s arm, dragging him back, and Javert swirled around to him, glaring at him warningly. As if he´d be ready to continue the same procedure on him if he got into his way. But Valjean´s calm features didn´t miss their effect, even on this raging man, and Javert blinked, startled.

“May I?” Valjean asked, gesturing for Moreau, and to his great surprise, Javert indeed stepped back, to let him have his try.

Valjean hunched before the bleeding man, fully aware of the fact that he had allowed it to come that far. That Javert had tortured this man, for information. And he hadn´t done anything. The fact that things had happened too fast for him to intervene, was no real excuse. He was here now, and he was ready to take over, where Javert did not come any further.

Better not to think about it, he rebuked himself and made himself focus.

“You said Gareaux would have died the same day.” he recalled, his voice so much more collected than he would have expected it from himself. And this man just glared at him, panting. “What about Lecomte?” Valjean wanted to know.

Moreau frowned, irritated, his eyes flying up to Javert for a moment. 

“What about him?” he asked, trying to sound casual.

“Your men tried to kill him a whole day after Gareaux.” Valjean explained his question. “Did you get sloppy with your schedule? Did you not have enough men? What was the reason?”

Moreau regarded Javert, one more time, before he lowered his eyes, thinking for a moment. “He was a secondary target.” he spoke, carefully, as if to make sure he said the right thing. “Gareaux and Marianne were the main operation.”

Valjean exchanged a glance with Javert, before turning back to Moreau. “What did Marianne have to do with this?”

“She was a witness. And a mission like this can´t afford any witnesses.” And then, all the sudden there was something new in his eyes, something that was purely meant for him, Valjean. Moreau smiled. “No relatives that could come back to ask questions one day.”

And at this, Valjean suddenly knew, what this man was implying.

“Cosette.” he jumped up.

“You think they don´t know you, Fauchelevent? They know everything about you. They will find you. And your daughter.”

Valjean stared at this man in the chair, for an undefinable amount of time, a time in which the entire world seemed to have stopped, just for him. And then time went on running, a little faster than usually to catch up with the brief stop it had taken. 

Valjean felt dizzy. But not dizzy enough to forget what was at stake. And what he had to do.

“Cosette.” he breathed and was out of the door, before he even knew he was moving. He had to get back to her. He had to get her someplace safe. He had to … 

But he didn´t get further than to the stairs. The sounds of running men and the voices he heard coming from downstairs, were unmistakable.

“In there. Hurry. They´re upstairs.”

He skipped back, hesitating only for a second. 

“JAVERT!” he shouted, and the men downstairs of course heard him too. 

They halted briefly, startled about his shout, and he used their distraction, to attack before they could. Using the parapet as leverage he raised his feet off the ground and swung, kicking the one closest to him in the face. The man grunted, and fell back, into the others. Unfortunately one of them avoided being entangled in this bale – and this one man aimed a gun at Valjean.

The shot rang out, and Valjean felt the hot pain in his shoulder, as he lost his grip and fell, onto the stairs. Downstairs the men he´d fended, tried to get back to their feet. And behind himself, Valjean heard footsteps. And then someone was there, dragging him back. Javert.

A gun was aimed at the men downstairs, over Valjean´s shoulder, and Valjean knew it wouldn´t be enough. They had one shot for three men. Armed men. If they didn´t stop them all at once, they´d be dead.

He had no idea how he managed this, over the pain in his shoulder, but Valjean grabbed the gun, before Javert had a chance to shoot, taking it out of his hand.

“What are you doing?” Javert shouted, but Valjean had already aimed the gun, and shot. The bullet hit the rotten beam holding the stairs, and it exploded in dozens and dozens of splinters. The men downstairs flinched, and then their gazes went up, to the ceiling.

One of them tried to aim his gun at them, in a desperate try to cause some more damage before the chance would be gone. But it was too late. The ceiling came down, like a trapdoor, and their attackers were sufficiently blocked from them.

And finally, finally Valjean allowed himself to feel pain. 

His groan seemed to have woken Javert too, because the hands holding him, dragged again, bringing him back to his feet and shoving him over to the window. He couldn´t be serious. There was a heap of garbage down there, mostly old food leftovers and some other nasty stuff no one wanted to inspect any closer. Javert opened the window, and Valjean was about to ask him if he´d lost his mind. He´d just been shot and he expected him to climb out of a window? In the first floor? How on earth was he supposed to do this?

Behind them there was a sound, and when he turned around, he saw Moreau lose of his ties, standing in the door, aiming a gun at them. Javert swirled around and pushed Valjean with his shoulder, right out of the window. The last thing he heard was a shot ringing out, and then he just fell. For a second everything swirled, and then he hit the garbage. Something skidded under him, and he fell even deeper, sliding down the heap of stinking something. For a moment everything around him spun and he wasn´t sure if he shouldn´t empty his stomach. There was probably worse on his coat right now. What had just happened?

When he looked again, he saw another figure jumping out of the window. Javert landed better than he had, rolled off the disgusting mass, and came back to his feet almost in one move. A hand grabbed Valjean´s coat, and dragged him up. And then they were just running. Running for dear life, for distance, for the sake of running.

Valjean had no idea how he managed it to keep up, but he did, dodging corners, again and again, until neither of them couldn´t go on any longer. If they truly had lost their pursuers? He couldn´t tell. All he knew was that he was done. His lungs were screaming and the pain was everywhere. Especially in his shoulder. So that was how a shot wound felt like.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Cosette.” he brought out, leaning against the wall, fighting the pain. “We need to get to her.” And even though he could barely walk anymore, he tried to go on. 

A hand grabbed his coat.

“What are you doing, old man?” Javert was still panting himself, but he was still strong enough to stop and push him back against the wall, causing the wound to scream again in pain. And had Valjean not been so out of breath, he had screamed too. “You can´t reach the mansion in this state.” Javert told him. “You´d barely make it around the next corner. Let me see this.”

Valjean felt his arm on fire, with each movement the other man caused, peeling the coat and other clothing away, in order to see the wound. A white light started to blind his vision, and for a while Valjean actually believed that this had to be the light of heaven, calling him. But no. He couldn´t go now. Not yet. Not with Cosette being in danger. He had to fight, he had to stay alive.

“I think you got lucky.” he heard Javert´s voice, calm and collected, not like someone who looked at a dying man. “The bullet went right through.” he told him. “And if it didn´t hit any bone …”

“I don´t think it did.” Valjean managed.

“Then we can patch it up, until you can see a real doctor. You got lucky.” Javert glanced up at him, briefly, and added a disapproving: “Luck´s with the idiots.”

That finally brought Valjean´s senses back around. “Idiot.” he repeated, staring at the man that was currently destroying his best coat, in order to use it as bandages. 

“You ran right into them.” Javert affirmed, shoving the balled up cloth under Valjean´s shirt, pressing it on the wound. And Valjean cried out, trying to keep his voice down.

“We both ran into their trap.” he panted, when he could breath normally again. “Don´t pretend that you´re so much smarter than I am.”

Javert merely chuckled, not looking up from his work, not arguing with Valjean´s logic either. He just ripped off some more cloth, putting more pressure on the wound. And Valjean leaned back, trying to keep his cries inside. When he looked at Javert again, still so focused on his work, Valjean noticed blood on Javert´s neck.

“You´re injured too.”

“It´s just a grace.” Javert sounded annoyed. “You´re the one who´d lose enough blood to leave a trail for them to follow.” 

He shoved some more cloth under Valjean´s shirt, this time behind his shoulder, on the exit wound, and once again Valjean gasped, at the pain. And then all the sudden, he started laughing, heartily, despite the pain.

Javert glanced up at him, startled. “What, are you one of those who actually enjoy pain? Or why are you laughing?”

Valjean leaned back, once again making his shoulder scream, as the improved tourniquet pressed hard against his wound. He waited until the white dots stopped dancing before his eyes. And still the whole time he couldn´t stop smiling, chuckling quietly.

“I think you know why I´m laughing.” he told Javert at last, meeting his gaze. And of course he did. He knew it very well.


	9. Fugitives

 

Valjean had never believed, not in his boldest dreams, that he´d ever see the day, when Javert, inspector extraordinaire, would really, truly, seriously steal a fiacre. But this was what happened, right now, before his very own eyes.

The driver was standing behind a corner, to release himself, his back to the street, and before Valjean knew what happened, Javert dragged him behind, to the coachman´s seat and heaved him up. A second later he sat beside him, whipping the horses, and the shouts of the poor driver faded behind them, almost drowned out by the noise of the trampling hooves. It was a miracle that no police man showed up to chase and arrest them. Javert truly must have lost his mind. 

But on the other hand … he should have caught up to this little fact, when Javert had shown up at the Pontmercy mansion, dressed, unshaved and dirty like a beggar, asking him – him! – for his help. Of course he was out of his mind. How else could be explained what was happening right now? 

Maybe it was the knock on the head, he had received behind the barricades, Valjean mused. He remembered the blood on the inspector´s forehead. Maybe that had messed him up, worse than Valjean had believed. Could such things be? It was the only explanation that seemed to make sense, why a character as unyielding as Javert had always been, could change so radically, in such a short time.

The carriage leaned into another curve, and Valjean felt his stomach turn around. If Javert would keep driving like that he would leave his lunch behind, that much was for sure. Heat was rising into his head, making his vision slightly blur. And finally, finally Javert slowed down, letting the horses run in a mannered tempo. 

Valjean took a deep breath, to steady his stomach. They drove the street almost as if it was totally normal that a man, with the looks and clothes of a beggar, drove a fiacre next to a gentleman with blood on his coat. God, it was a blessing that people were too busy in the evening hours of the day, to look up at every passing carriage. Otherwise they would have drawn much more attention. 

“I must say …” Valjean couldn´t help but comment on their situation, and if it was only to see how the other man would react. He said: “You astound me, inspector. Stealing a carriage is not what I would have expected you to do, even as a last resort.”

“It´s called requisitioning a vehicle.” Javert rephrased the action, and Valjean chuckled.

“That´s what you could call it if you´d still be police.” He didn´t get an answer. But after a while Javert rolled his eyes, away from him, mumbling something that sounded like: 

“Maybe I have more of my father than I always wanted to believe.”

He had said it into another direction, and still he had spoken loud enough for Valjean to at least hear it. Was he not sure if he wanted to share this?

Valjean frowned. “Your father?”

“Forget it.”

Javert was still not looking at him. And yet his eyes told Valjean to indeed leave it be. That whatever had made Javert speak out this little piece of information, was now gone, and the vault of secrets had been closed up, once again.

There was something strange in the world, when two men, as different as they were, could find themselves in such a place, together. Valjean had always believed in a higher plan – or he´d learned to believe it, when a wise man had taught him so. But how strange could God´s way be, when it led him on a path like this? He didn´t understand this. He didn´t understand it at all.

The steady sounds of the horses on the pavement, became white noise, and Valjean felt that he was getting dizzy, be it from exhaustion or from the blood loss. Suddenly the carriage stopped, and he was wide awake again. They had not reached the mansion. Not by a long shot.

“What are you doing?” he cried, and Javert ordered him, as calm as always:

“Get in the back.”

What? “We need to get home to Cosette.”

Javert only raised a brow at his urgency. “The faster you get back there, the faster we can keep driving.” he told him. “You won´t help your daughter if you fall off this carriage.”

Valjean stared into this careless face, but obeyed. What else could he do? But Javert better really kept driving, and fast. Or he would not be so nice next time he ordered him around like an inferior. Who did this man think he was? 

Thanks God the carriage indeed started moving, as soon as he sat inside, leaning back against the cushions. And soon his thoughts started spinning along with his head, swirling back and forth between Cosette and what he had seen and heard. About Javert, about this conspiracy, about Cosette being in danger … Oh God, please don´t.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The moment Cosette heard the cab approaching the mansion, she knew it was her father. She hadn´t waited for Pontier to watch out – the good servant was probably busy enough with other things – so she was the first to notice the sounds of the hooves, coming up the driveway. Marius looked after her, startled, when she jumped up, in the middle of the conversation, to hurry over to the window.

“Cosette?” he asked, uncertain.

“That must be him.” she told him, her eyes on the carriage. “That must be Papa coming back.”

And that was the moment her eyes focused on the driver. What in heaven´s name …? She couldn´t remember to have ever seen a cab driver that looked so … unpresentable and poor. 

“How strange.” Marius uttered, having appeared beside her. He´d seen the same thing. And something inside Cosette just knew that this wasn´t good. That something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

“Marius.” she instinctively reached out for him, in her need for support. And he held her hand, just long enough for her to gather some strength from him, before her feet independently carried her out of the room, to the front door.

As she rushed out of the door, her father just left the cab, depending on the support of this strange cab driver. And when the man looked up at her, she finally recognized him.

Javert!

And her father was injured. Blood on his coat. Weakened. All because of him.

“He needs to be bandaged.” Javert spoke, but all she saw was the pale complexion of her father.

“What did you do to him?” she spat, taking her dear Papa to lean on her shoulder, not on his. She wouldn´t see him lean on this man, who must have done God knew what to get him home like this.

“Please, Cosette.” her father panted, as she dragged him towards the door. “It wasn´t his fault.” She glanced at him, almost as angry at him now – how could he possibly defend this man? – and saw her father halt, as if to reconsider. “Well.” he made. “Maybe half of it.”

Cosette glared at Javert – what was this ridiculous disguise supposed to be? – and the inspector gave her father a look, as if to ask: Really? You insist on percentual distribution of blame now?

“Oh my God.” the soft voice of Marius, disrupted her anger, and when she turned, he stood there, in the doorway. And by seeing him so worried and aghast, Cosette´s heart settled down, focusing on what was really important. Not her anger, not her disgust for this man that should be ashamed to call himself police inspector. No, right now it was about her father, and his injury, wherever he had gotten it. 

Marius turned around, calling over his shoulder. “Gilbert! Bring water, and fresh bandages. We have an injured man here.”

Cosette felt unbelievably grateful, and if that was even possible, her love for Marius grew even more. As if her soul was graving for love, especially in this moment.

She reached the door, and her father took Marius´ arm, to keep him from running ahead of them. As if he didn´t want to enter the house.

“Papa.” she tried but all his attention was on Marius.

“Where´s your grandfather?” he asked, still panting in his pain. “We need to leave this place, immediately.”

“For god´s sake, man, give them time to patch you up.” Javert appeared beside them, and Cosette felt the familiar anger rise again.

“We don´t have time.” her father objected. To the man´s words, not to his presence.

“Why?” Cosette asked. “What is the matter, Papa?”

“There are men.” he told her, and Marius, so urgently. “They will come for you. All of you.”

“Why?” Marius had paled at his words. But he was still so attentive. Ready to do whatever was necessary, whatever was in his power.

Cosette watched her father, swallow, in a way she only knew it from him, when he didn´t want to speak out the truth. And then he met the gaze of the abhorrent inspector.

“I got involved in something.” Javert answered for him, as if her father´s gaze had just made him admit his sins. “Something very dangerous. And they will not hesitate to hurt you all, to shut me up.”

“Shut you up?” Marius repeated, and without Javert having to say anymore, he seemed to guess something. As if he knew more than Cosette could ever guess, about these things. 

Oh, how she wished to know the same things. How she hated her father for never telling her. Now it would be important that she knew, and now there was no time for her to learn all this first. Had he never known that this day might come? He must have known. So why, why had he never told her? Now it might be too late. How was she supposed to protect him and repay him for protecting her all these years, if she had no idea of the dangers that came after them? Had he never thought of that? Had he never even considered that? Oh, this silly old man.

The servant came with bandages and she sat her father down, into a cushioned armchair, barely able to step back and let them treat his wound. When the cloth got peeled back and the blood oozed out from under his skin, she almost cried out in pain. No. Please, don´t let him die. Please.

Her eyes found Javert, only for a moment, before Marius took her into his arms, and the hate in her heart melted away, with her despair. All she wanted was to let him hold her, and cry, for her dear Papa, for herself, for all of them. Because this was what this devil Javert had said. That whatever had happened to her Papa, could happen to them all.

I always knew he´d bring us harm, she thought. I knew it when he entered our house. Papa should have never trusted him. 

“We need to leave.” she heard her father´s voice, distorted with the pain caused by the servant´s treatment. “I can wait.” And he actually tried to get the servant off himself, to make him stop.

“Papa, no!” Cosette cried, but Javert stepped into her way.

“He´s right, Mademoiselle.” he said, astoundingly soft, but this put on tone could not fool her. He turned to Marius. “Please.” he urged. “Talk to your grandfather. And let the servants prepare for a quick start. Only take what´s absolutely essential. And hurry.”

Once again Marius´ gaze was so aware, and something in his eyes was so awake, as Cosette had never seen it before, not a single time in all those days that she had spent with him, to revive his spirit. He nodded at the inspector, eagerly, and hurried away, leaving Cosette alone with her poor father and this monster in human form.

She moved away from Javert, backing up, until she was by her father´s side, and fell to her knees, hands grasping his. Please, God, she prayed. Protect us from this evil.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was barely an hour later – an hour that had passed like minutes, but Marius remembered this fleeting perception of time, in battle situations – that they stood outside, with two carriages packed and ready to go. The cab, Cosette´s father had brought with him, and his grandfather´s very own carriage.

The servants had been sent back inside, after they had packed the very few indispensable items. The order was to maintain the mansion until their masters would return. And they would of course follow this order, even though Marius could tell that some of them had not felt too well with the idea. They knew something was going on. Only none of them would dare to ask.

“Monsieur.” Marius stopped the stranger, that had come to their house to warn them from this danger, short before the coachman´s seat.

The man turned to him, impatiently, and once again Marius felt as if he should know this man. His eyes. There was something so awfully familiar about them. But right now they were also very humiliating, as if nothing that Marius could want to ask, could be important enough to delay their departure. 

“Where are we going?” he asked anyway, and the older man only looked back at him, with a face made of stone.

“For now? As far away from here as possible.”

And with that he climbed on the seat, and Marius, feeling so small as if he were a child again, went to his grandfather´s fiacre, to join Cosette and her father.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was several hours into the drive, night had settled in, when Javert suddenly recognized the area they drove through. Just as the small house appeared in the distance, he knew for sure. He stopped the cab a few hundred feet down the road, and got off.

“What is it?” the baron asked, when he reached the other carriage. “Why do we stop?”

The door of the fiacre opened and Valjean peeked out, followed by his daughter and the boy.

“That´s an Inn over there.” Javert told them. “I stayed there once when I traveled on police business out of town.” he looked them over for a second, before he added: “I believe it´s best if someone unsuspicious makes the arrangement.”

He didn´t need to speak it out. Valjean, even though he still seemed sleepy and stiff from the long ride, caught up at once. He turned to his daughter, leaning against the door of the car with his bad shoulder.

“Cosette. You do that. Take some money. Tell them your name is … Pineau. Say you´re traveling with your family and that we need rooms.”

The girl´s eyes found Javert, full of hate, at Valjean´s words. Family. But she took the money and made her way over to the house, nonetheless, not speaking a single word. They watched her go, and Javert had no idea why he mentioned it at all, but he suddenly found himself next to Valjean, murmuring, only for him to hear: “I don´t think your daughter likes me very much.” 

The other man looked at him, startled, and Javert gestured unobtrusively for him, to take a few steps, away from the Pontmercys.

“Does she know who I am?” he asked, quietly, when they were – relatively – alone. “Who I really am?”

Valjean reacted uncomfortable at this question, and that alone told Javert that he´d been right with his assumption.

“She … remembers.” the ex-convict started, nervously fiddling with the sling over his shoulder. “But not all. She doesn´t trust you.”

Javert nodded. “I noticed.” For a moment he hesitated, looking after the girl, even though she was long gone from his view. And he couldn´t help recalling her hateful gaze. “Do you think I should lock my door?” he asked, and as an afterthought: “Does she own a knife or some other weapon?”

Valjean stared at him, wide eyed, and then simply began to laugh. “You can´t be serious, Javert.”

Javert frowned deeply at this strange reaction. “I was very serious.” he informed Valjean, but Valjean did not stop smiling heartily at him. This stupid blissful smile, Javert had always taken for deception. Now it felt like mockery.

“I thought you´d learned some things these last few weeks, about human nature.” the ex convict said. “Javert.”

Javert had no response to that. He didn´t even know what this man meant by that. And then he noticed how a frown appeared between Valjean´s eyes, as he regarded him. What? What was it now?

As if he´d heard the question, spoken out loud, Valjean shook his head.

“Please don´t take that personal.” he said. “But … God, you look awful. I mean, really … this whole …” he moved his hand before his own face, to indicate the appearance. “It´s so odd. That´s just not you anymore.”

Javert snorted, smirking, and raised a brow at him. “That was the idea, Val …” he halted, and quickly checked one more time, their distance to the baron and his grandson.

“Still.” Valjean just went on. “You exaggerated. You always exaggerate.”

Javert gave him a face. “Says the man that sacrifices eight years of his life to raise the child of a dead prostitute, out of guilt. You´re not the one to talk, Valjean.”

“I didn´t sacrifice anything when I took Cosette.” Valjean objected, gently. “I won life. And you´re the one to talk, inspector. Dedicated like you were, to catch one fugitive, over all these years.”

Javert only raised a brow, not dignifying this remark with an answer. Just as he tried to search another spot to look at, Valjean decided to insult him even more.

“We´re not so different than you think, Javert.” he spoke, and Javert´s head snapped back, to glare at him.

“Don´t you dare saying that ever again.” he rasped. “You hear me?”

Valjean only chuckled, and for a moment they just looked at each other, in an almost peaceful silence. The convict and his life long pursuer. How could the world have turned upside down like this? How could things be, that were so wrong and impossible? And how could he, Javert, allow it? Turning to his worst enemy, in his darkest hour. How had all this happened? Surely staring at Valjean like an idiot would not solve this riddle. Would it?

“You know what doesn´t let me go?” Valjean spoke up again, serious all the sudden, and Javert skipped back a little, cautiously.

“What?” 

“There was something Moreau said. He said you …” And this time Valjean looked over at the two other men. “ … took out three of his men. But it was three that attacked us at Lecomte´s … and three at the pharmacy. Right? That would make six men. Not three.”

Javert recalled the facts, thinking back. “Six dead men.” he nodded, commenting Valjean in silence on his recollection. “And yet he only sees three of them as his.”

He could tell on the other man´s reaction, that he understood the unspoken. Valjean held his injured arm, protectively, when he asked: “Then who sent the others?”

But here Javert had to resign. “I don´t know.”

“Excuse me, gentlemen.” the voice of the baron, caught them both off guard. The old man and his grandson had approached them after all, without any of them noticing. “Maybe I can help you with this.” the old man offered. “My family is well known in this city, I have many friends. I could find out what you need to know.”

Behind him the boy watched his grandfather with curios worry, unable to decide where in all this he should stand. And somehow Javert could relate to that feeling.

“It´s too dangerous for you to go back.” he told the old man, but the baron shook his head.

“I am a baron.” he reminded him, with conviction. “From a very old blood line. They will not dare to touch me.”

Javert looked into the gray eyes of this man, so small and fragile as if he could be broken in half by a strong hand with no problems, and there was something there, something that made even him hesitant. And glancing briefly at the boy beside him, he understood.

“All right.” he nodded, unable to not respect this bravery. “But be careful who you trust.”

“Don´t worry.” the baron spoke, lightly, as if this was truly nothing. “I might be old, but I know how to find my way through a maze.”

“I´ll go with you.” Marius offered, now finally deciding where he wanted to stand. But his newly found spirit quickly got calmed, by the elder. 

“No, Marius.” he told him, with a gentle smile. “You´ll take care of your young bride.” And as he padded the startled boy´s hand: “Make sure she is save. And take care of yourself, too. I will see you when all this is over.”

Marius, even though Javert was sure he knew better than to just believe his grandfather, nodded, obediently, the fear so clear in his eyes. Maybe one day he´d be ready again, and strong enough, to object to an offer like that. But right now, so shortly after the barricades, he just didn´t have that strength. And Javert doubted the old man would see the day, when his grandson would find it again.

A hand took his arm, dragging him aside, while the old man was still busy talking his grandson out of suicide.

“We can´t allow this.” Valjean hissed at him. “He´s wrong when he thinks his title will protect him and you know that.”

“I know.” Javert looked into his eyes, and this was all it took. “But so does he.” And Valjean understood. Javert turned his back to the others. “Don´t tell the boy. Or your daughter. They will sleep better when they don´t worry about the old man.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cosette turned to her father, when she heard the hiss. He was sitting on the bed, holding his shoulder. His injury. 

“Papa.” she tried to help him, but he shook his head.

“I´m fine.” 

“You´re not fine. You´re hurt. Every time this man is involved you get hurt. He´s a devil. And we should not travel with him.”

“Cosette, please.”

“No.” this time she was furious. How could he not see it? How could he allow this? “I won´t lose you.” she told him. “Not like this. Not when I can stop it from happening.”

“Stop it from happening?” he repeated startled, shaking his head. “Cosette, dear, what are you talking about?”

Her face was hard when she looked at him, her eyes burning with unshed tears of anger. “You know what I´m talking about.” she whispered. “You must know. You always kept me save. From him.”

She could see in his face, that she was right. 

“You protected me, hid me, so he wouldn´t find us. Because you knew he was bad.”

And here he shook his head, but she wouldn´t let him talk.

“Because you knew he´d tear us apart, destroy our lives, take everything from us, that made our lives good.”

“Cosette …”

“Because you knew that men like him do things for no other reason than to cause pain. Because you knew …“

“Cosette, please!”

“It was the truth for all these years!” she shouted, insisting, and finally the tears fell. “That´s what you taught me.” she sobbed, desperately trying not to cry. “Why I feared him.” 

She couldn´t hold the tears. She couldn´t.

“Is that what I made you believe?” she heard his broken voice, over her own sobs. “With my life long paranoia? Is that what I made you see?”

She looked up at him, seeing his face through a cloud of water. And he was so hurt. But for her. Always for her.

“Oh, dear lord, forgive me, Cosette. I never wanted to teach you such hate. Such fear.” He took her hands. “I always only wanted what´s best for you.”

Cosette looked down at his hands, one of them weak from the pain in his shoulder. And her own hands found his sleeves, once again forcing them up, to reveal his wrists, scarred, from pain so many years ago. And just as always he flinched back, as if the scars were still hurting him, when touched, even by her. Or … especially by her.

“Did he do that to you?” she managed to ask, her throat aching. “Did he …?” but she couldn´t finish the question, unable to imagine what this man must have done, to leave such scars.

His eyes were emphasizing, gentle, as if she was the one to be pitied, not him.

“Oh, Cosette.” he took her hands, faster between his. “He never did anything to me. He didn´t.”

Now it would come, she knew it. He finally would tell her the name of the person who´d hurt him. The devil in human form.

He said: “I did.” And Cosette´s heart stopped for a moment. What?

“Everything that happened to me in the past … was my own responsibility. The years that left me scarred … as well as the years that left me blessed.” At this he touched her cheek, so light, only with his thumb. “I´ve tried to blame others for the pain I had to go through. Javert was one of them. But the truth is … I did this … all of it, to myself.”

“No.”

He nodded. “It´s true. I would have had choices, all my life. Only it took me way too long, to realize this. To realize that everything that would happen to me, because of my actions … wasn´t in God´s hands. Or anyone´s. But in mine. If I would have made different choices, my life would have been different.” He smiled. “Maybe less painful. But also less blessed. For I would have never found you. So let´s not judge the past, my dear. There´s always a higher plan. For everything.”

And at this, she just didn´t have the strength anymore. The tears started to flow and he held her, for as long as it took.

“I don´t understand this.” she whispered, when she could finally speak again, wiping her eyes, red by now. And her voice didn´t sound like her own anymore either. “What is all this? What higher plan has brought us here? Where are we going?”

He sighed, sadly. “I don´t know yet, Cosette.” And he shook his head. “I can´t expect you to understand. It is very complicated and even I don´t understand it all yet.”

“Then explain it to me.” she begged. “How can I understand if you don´t talk to me? Please, Papa. I´m not a child anymore. If you want me to go on this journey with you and this … this man. Then I need to know why.”

And this time, when she looked into his eyes, she was sure, for the first time in her life, that he would answer her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Only a few doors away, Javert sat alone, not even guessing what the mood was like between Valjean and his daughter right now. He was too exhausted to care for anyone´s mood but his own. God, he was so tired. All he wanted was sleep and forget. Rest. Only he couldn´t. His mind simply wouldn´t let him. It wouldn´t let him leave it all behind, not even for tonight.

The worst was that he was unable to think. Any conscious thought seemed to have abandoned him. All he had left instead was a turmoil of pictures, images, feelings, impressions, colors and shades. Nothing that had any kind of shape, nothing he could put in any form of order. Total chaos, within his mind. His heart. 

What had he done? What had happened to him, to let him end up like this? He´d been grand once. Respected. Above this level, that he´d always hated and despised so much. And now? Now he was right back where he´d come from. Wasn´t he? 

But no. This appearance he wore lately was only a disguise. Born of necessity. It didn´t mirror his true self. It hid it, so he could live another day, and fight those who had done wrong. Just as he´d always done it. Serving the law. Doing the right thing. On the path of the Lord, who always rewarded those who did good. 

And that was what he would do. For it was his duty. Still. No matter what.

Javert got up, and walked to the small bureau, to the tiny mirror that stood there. His image was a mess. He was filthy, and his head looked like a skull. Something that wouldn´t change all too soon, as long as his hair didn´t grow out again. His eyes were bloodshot and the beard he´d grown to hide his face was bushy and just messy. A real catastrophe. Just like his mind was right now. 

Regarding himself now, he had to admit that Moreau had been right after all. He had let himself go. The disguise might have been intended, but not that much. It was about time to correct this mistake.

Maybe he was unable to clean up the mess inside his head, for now. But at least he could do something about this outside mess. 

And after he´d done that, he´d start working on how to correct the other wrongs that had been done. One step at a time. One at a time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In his own room, the room he would have shared with his grandfather, had he stayed as Cosette had believed when renting the rooms, Marius tried to settle down. Only he couldn´t. His heart was a turmoil, never able to focus on only one thing at the time. Cosette. This impossible situation. Cosette. His grandfather who went back to solve a riddle Marius didn´t even know. Cosette. Her hate towards this man, that had obviously come to help them, and bring them someplace save. Away from the place his grandfather was now going back to. Alone. 

He had taken the smaller carriage, the one Cosette´s father had brought. A stolen cab obviously, according to Monsieur Javert´s words. But somehow this little fact didn´t seem to bother his grandfather too much. He´d only looked surprised for a moment, before he accepted this fact without another word. 

Marius didn´t understand anything anymore. His grandfather driving a stolen carriage? Knowingly? What kind of danger was he trying to protect them from, when he was content with such measures? And a danger it was, Marius simply knew that. Just the way his grandfather had hugged him, before climbing on the seat. The way Monsieur Javert had wished him luck, and his grandfather´s response to it:

“For all of us.”

Marius felt helpless. Vulnerable. More than ever before in his life. With one exception maybe. But even that was no comparison to what he felt now. Because now he didn´t know what to feel. Except fear. From something he didn´t even know. 

Something was coming after them. A dark lurking danger, and Marius simply had no idea how to face this. Make sure your bride is save, his grandfather had said. But how should he do that, if he didn´t even know what he had to protect her from? 

Once … he´d wanted nothing but fight. For the right thing. But that had been in another life, before he´d seen all his friends die. And nothing was different. All the things they´d wanted to change, to make come true, it was all still the same. So much loss … for nothing. And a part of Marius had died along with them, at this barricade. What was left of him, was only a shadow of the fighter he´d been. Alone in the dark, frightened, not of the danger, but of his own weakness. Of the unknown. 

Where was his grandfather going? Did he know that he would die? Where were they going? Did they know if they would die too? Did Cosette´s father know? Or his strange friend? Maybe it would have been better if he´d never woken up, after the barricades.

Marius closed his eyes, trying to fight the tears, and failed. He tried to sleep and failed too. Eventually he drifted off into a restless sleep, neither really sleeping nor waking, always drifting out of a bad dream and back in. And all the while his eyes noticed the change of light around him, as the moon passed by his window, and later as night slowly turned into dawn, dark and uncertain. Just like his dreams. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Just a short note: If any of you had problems imagining Javert´s current appearance, know that I had some trouble with that too :) I made a picture that might help with that. Just check out this: http://nureinname.deviantart.com/  
It´s not much but it helped me to picture a changed Javert.  
And in case you forgot ... you can let me know what you think about the story. Feedback´s always appreciated.


	10. Dying for Something

 

**If any of you had problems imagining Javert´s current appearance, know that I had some trouble with that too. I made a picture that might help with that. It´s not much but it helped me to picture a changed Javert.**

**And now let´s continue with the story …**

* * *

 

**Dying for Something**

He wasn´t used to such long journeys. Driving for hours, out of the city, and then the same way back, almost without a break. If he´d been ten years younger, twenty years, it would have been easier. But he did this for his grandson, so he kept moving on. And finally, finally he reached the gates of Paris.

He passed it, and left it behind. The streets were almost empty. Even though the siege was long gone, the people seemed to remember it well, and stayed inside, for their own safety. No one wanted to get involved with whatever business the national guard had had here. Maybe Monsieur Fauchelevent and his strange friend were right after all. Not that he had doubted that. But seeing it with his own eyes, made it more real.

He didn´t dare to drive the stolen fiacre all the way to his old friend´s house. He parked it a few streets away, not intending to ever go back and fetch it. The police would find it and return it to whoever owned it. And the idea that it was a baron who´d driven it there, would surely never even cross their minds.

His legs were aching, and so was his back. But he reminded himself, again and again, why he was doing this. Marius. And his sweet bride. They had to be safe. His life was expendable. And if this should be his last march, so be it. He´d been a fighter once, in his younger years. Now that it was called for, his old bones remembered their former strength. They would carry him, for as long as it was necessary.

Finally he reached the house. His old friend was still awake, he could see the lights on, in his sitting room, where he was probably reading into the night again. Some things just never changed.

When he knocked the faithful servant Bernard opened him.

“Monsieur Gillenormand.” he exclaimed at his unexpected appearance. “We didn´t expect a visit.”

“I know.” the baron took off his hat, and stepped inside. Oh God his legs were shaking. Visibly as it seemed because the good Bernard instantly offered him to sit down.

“I need to speak to Jérôme. Monsieur Desperaux.” the baron spoke, but took the chair, gratefully.

“Did I just hear my name?” the familiar voice sounded from the door. “My God, Grégoire. What are you doing here?”

Bernard instantly stepped back to allow the master of the house, to greet his guest. “Did you walk here?” he asked, when he saw his old friend´s condition.

The baron laughed. “Walking is healthy, did they never tell you this?” But his old friend didn´t join the joke. He knew something was wrong. He´d always known such things.

“What is it?” he asked, therefor. And the baron straightened in his seat.

“You see, my friend.” he spoke. “I´m in some sort of situation.” he looked at Bernard for a moment, but the man was serving Jérôme´s family for so long, he knew he could trust him. So he spoke it out: “I need your help.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Javert left his room in the morning, entering the little restaurant of their Inn, he found Valjean sitting separately from the kids, eating a small breakfast in solitude. Cosette and Marius were quiet too, not talking much, just eating. And already Javert felt as if he was intruding.

The feeling changed the moment Valjean spotted him. He gave him a demonstrative once over, and started nodding, approvingly.

“Now.” he spoke, skipping back a little as if to make space for him to sit. “That´s more like it.”

Javert rolled his eyes. “Please. Spare me that.” He had only tamed his beard a bit, cleaned up, but that was all. Still he had to admit he did feel like a human being again, not like this walking pest he´d been before.

He took his seat on the table, glancing over at the girl and her boyfriend, talking more by now and even quieter. There had to be a reason why Valjean had decided to eat his breakfast away from them. And when the gaze of the girl met Javert, he had an idea why.

“I told her …” Valjean admitted, before Javert could ask the question. “What is going on. Why we´re on the run.”

Javert just couldn´t believe it. He did what?

“She asked me, I had no choice.” Valjean defended himself, as if Javert had cried out his thought instead of just thinking it. “We´re on the run, Javert.” he recalled a fact that was well known to both of them. “And I have no secrets from my daughter.”

The snort came almost unasked. “No, I´m sure you don´t.” Javert retorted. “You always tell her everything.”

Valjean paled, and searched the children again, as if to check. No, they were not listening.

“Just … one thing.” he spoke to Javert, still watching the kids. “I´m sure that this won´t happen, but … If Cosette should ever ask you … anything. Could you … just … not tell her that you saw me at the barricades?”

Javert raised his brows. What?

“Marius thanks God does not remember me.” Valjean explained. “And I want to keep it that way.”

Was he serious? Javert looked at him, then at the kids, then back at him, and totally failed to see the reason in this.

“You saved your daughter´s sweetheart, from certain death.” he recalled, just to make sure he didn´t misinterpret any small details. But Valjean´s reaction made clear that he hadn´t misinterpreted anything. “Why would you avoid to be her hero … and gain a little bit of her attention back?” he asked.

But Valjean´s reaction was defiant. “I don´t have to justify myself to you.” he grumbled. “This is how I want it.”

Javert couldn´t help but had to smirk at this man, that would never stop to be a mystery to him. And yet he was such an open book, he probably didn´t even realize it.

“Tell me one thing, Valjean.” he asked, quietly. “Does she even know your real name?” He received a deadly glare for this provocation, and it would have been a lie if Javert had claimed not to enjoy this.

“I´m not the only one with secrets here, inspector.” Valjean practically spat the last word. “You call me a thief but you know how to pick a lock and very professionally if I may add. You shoot people when you´re given the order, not even knowing who they are and why they have to die.”

Now it was Javert´s turn to glare. “I told you, I never did one of those.” he hissed.

“But you approve to it. Don´t you? That´s at least how you talk about it. You think that some of these actions can be justified. Killing … in the name of the law.”

“What do you think executions are?”

“Murder. No more no less. Just like these … operations.”

Javert kept glaring, but so did Valjean, each of them trying to defeat the other one´s point only with their stare. Each of them failed.

“You know nothing, Valjean.” Javert rasped. “Nothing at all.”

“But you do?”

“I know certain things are necessary. Sometimes you have to do things you are not proud of.” He gave Valjean a look. “I´m sure you know that feeling.” After that he dropped his gaze, only for a moment. “And sometimes you are forced to do cruel things, even terrible things, things you know would condemn you to hell, if they were not done for the right reasons.” When he looked at Valjean again, the other man shook his head.

“You sound exactly like Moreau. What reason could that possibly be, Javert? What?”

“You have no idea, Valjean. In your little world you might not see a reason. But there are reasons. In the world I lived in … there are reasons. Whether we like it or not.”

“I don´t think I ever want to understand those reasons.” was all Valjean would respond to that.

But Javert had already started to think. Without him wanting it, his thoughts had started to turn, back to Moreau and what he had said. Suddenly, after Valjean´s objection, he saw Moreau´s words in a new light.

A good question indeed. What reason could it possible be? He was so convinced about being a patriot. And Javert had seen a lot of men claiming that. He knew the difference between one that only said it, and one that really meant it. Moreau had meant it. So he indeed had to be working for someone very powerful. Someone so powerful he was ready to kill and even die for, to protect them.

Next to him Valjean sighed. “Look at me.” he spoke, absentmindedly, shaking his head. His gaze was somewhere in the distance. “I´m on the run from the law yet again. Only this time you´re not the one coming after me. This time I´m dragging you behind.”

Obviously Valjean had had other thoughts, circling in his mind. Javert had almost laughed.

“Or I´m dragging you behind.” When the ex-convict looked at him, he shook his head. “Does it really matter how we got here, Valjean?” he fended the question. “We are here. Now we have to deal with it.”

With no further objection, Valjean turned to look over at Cosette and Marius, still talking quietly. “I need to bring them somewhere safe.” he said and Javert could not argue with that. “But where is safe?” Valjean sighed. “These people who are after us …” he didn´t know how to go on, Javert could see that. His desperation. His struggle.

“There´s a convent not too far away from here.” he suggested, and Valjean turned to him, startled. “This should be safe enough.” Javert said. “And it´s better than to drive miles and miles away from Paris. I have a feeling we´ll be needed there, very soon.”

Valjean glanced at the kids again, considering. Eventually he nodded. “All right. Deal.” He turned to Javert as if he had something more to say, but he didn´t. He merely seemed to wait for Javert to do or say something. To seal their deal maybe?

He gave him a nod, and Valjean seemed to be satisfied. He had his unspoken promise. And maybe, Javert thought to himself, there were worse things on earth, than to make a pact like that.

His eyes found the kids again, and they were both watching him now. Javert sighed. So now they knew. What would come next?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He knew he probably shouldn´t do it. This man scared Cosette, enough to make her beautiful face turn hard, and her voice cold. But he just had to talk to him. And if it was only this one time. Marius felt his face grow cold, as he approached him, but he walked on, until he was at him.

“You are the inspector.” he spoke, and Javert turned to him, startled. So far his attention had been on the carriage, preparing it for their departure. Now he looked at him, as if Marius had accused him of a crime.

The young student nodded. “Cosette told me. I knew I´d seen your face before but … you´ve changed.” A sigh escaped him, his eyes never leaving the face of the man he´d met first as a spy, trying to infiltrate him and his friends, to stop their revolution. An enemy behind the barricade. But now, looking back, Marius couldn´t help but wonder, if it hadn´t been better if the inspector had succeeded. Maybe some of them would still be alive if he had. Maybe all of them would be alive now. Not just him.

“I guess the barricades changed us all.” was all he knew to say to this man. What else was there to say?

It was so obvious that Javert had been through a lot himself, so he surely didn´t need Marius to tell him. And yet he was back now, to help them against another danger. Marius did not know why Cosette hated him so much. All he could feel was the utmost respect for this man, who was currently frowning at him, as if he didn´t know what Marius was talking about.

“You see …” the younger man spoke. “I thought I was the only one who survived.” And at this the inspector cocked his head, suddenly avoiding his gaze.

“You got lucky, boy.” he told him. “You should thank your guardian angel for getting you out of there.”

Marius couldn´t help the bitter chuckle that came up in him. “I can´t even remember how I got out. All I remember is getting shot.” He needed to take a breath against the visions. “Screams, and shots and explosions around me. As if the world was crushing down. And the blood of my friends, everywhere.” His voice was breaking. “Oh God, my friends …”

He more felt than saw the other man beside him, shifting uncomfortable from one foot to the other. Marius knew that he was bothering him, with his grief. He surely hadn´t intended to start crying in front of this man. Dammit, why did he have to be so weak? Why had he been so weak, back then, when it would have mattered not to be?

“There was a woman, Eponine.” he told him, not able to stop himself. “She died in my arms. After she had saved my life.” Again the tears came unexpected, suffocating him. “Why did all this happen, inspector?” he managed to ask, fighting it back unsuccessfully. “Do you know it? Because I don´t.” he shook his head, not even looking at the inspector. “Maybe I never did.”

He didn´t expect Javert to give him an answer. He knew there was none. The more it surprised him when he indeed got one. And if it was only in the form of a mystifying response.

“I´m in the process of finding that out, boy.” the inspector told him, and that alone made Marius halt, forgetting his tears at last. What? Had he just heard him right? Finding out? What could he possibly find out? What had happened, had happened because of a bad fate. Of bad luck. Coincidences, too cruel to be named. Right?

Except …

But before he could ask him, the inspector padded his shoulder. “Come on now.” he said, as if the matter was over. “Get in. We need to leave.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Valjean climbed on the coachman´s seat, to join Javert. He could have stayed with Cosette in the back but he had things to talk about, that only the inspector would understand. And besides that fact, he really rather kept his distance from the two young and their love. He´d spent hours in this small cab with them last night, and he did not urge to repeat this experience. Should they have their privacy. He didn´t need to be a part of it.

Javert glanced at him with reluctance, when he took his seat next to him, but didn´t speak. He just pulled the reins, and the horses started moving.

“If I didn´t know any better …” Valjean mentioned, what he´d seen earlier, between Javert and the boy. “I´d almost say you showed some form of compassion there.” He received a side glance from the other man. “As if you actually regretted what happened at the barricades.”

Valjean watched the face beside him carefully. It was stony. No change in Javert´s expression at all, dark as it was.

“Of course I regret what happened that night.” the former inspector growled at last, not even looking at him. “Too many lives were lost there. Far too many. And I will find the one who´s responsible.”

Valjean regarded this man, beside him. The man that had hunted him for all these years. And now that things had changed so much, he didn´t even want to look at him. As if his mind was already far ahead, at the task that lay before him. The task he´d put upon himself, just as he had once put it upon himself to take care of a lonely child, who had lost her mother. And in this moment Valjean could not help but wonder.

“You know …” he began again. “There was a time in my life … when I would have just packed and left. Taken Cosette and run away, as far as I could. Buying a house in England is easy when you know how.”

He didn´t know for sure why he´d mentioned this last bit, but the gaze Javert gave him now, was a glare. Warningly.

“What do you propose here, Valjean?” he asked, lowly, and for a moment Valjean was embarrassed for having said it. “I can´t just leave now.” the former inspector told him. “Maybe a convict like you can just run, but I can´t.” Javert looked ahead again, stubbornly, his jaw working. “No, I have to do this.”

Valjean didn´t know why it bothered him so much, what Javert had just said. Or the tone he´d used for this last sentence. As if he didn´t even consider if he would live or die in this.

“I didn´t propose anything.” he said. “But you have only your own life to worry about. I have a young daughter to care for.”

“And the boy now too.” Javert added, driving a knife into Valjean´s soul once again.

“Yeah.” he agreed. “Him now too.”

Javert frowned, regarding him. “The convent will be safe for them.” he emphasized once again. “Safe enough at least.” He gave a little shrug, and turned back to the road. “But if you think you have to take them under your arm and run away to England, go ahead. I won´t stop you.”

Valjean didn´t know what to say. Hearing those words should be a relief. But it wasn´t. Javert smirked at him, unnoticeable, and raised a brow.

“There was a time in my life too, when I would have never said that.” he spoke, and somehow this simple admittance made Valjean understand, at last. That whatever had happened to Javert, was not just limited to an outside change of appearance. No, it had to be much more profound. And somehow he felt that he was responsible for that.

“If we just leave, what will you do?” he asked, but didn´t get an answer. “You can´t fight them all on your own.” he cried. “You would die.”

“Maybe” Javert was still not looking at him. His face darkened, and it scared Valjean to see this shadow over the other man´s face. “But this time at least,” he said. “I´d die for a reason. One that I understand.”

And that was the last thing he would speak on that matter.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“His name is Bourguignon.” Jérôme spoke, writing down an address for his old friend. “Henry Bourguignon. We know each other from our days in the royal army. He´s a general now, and very powerful. He has influence that you can only imagine, knows the right people. If there is anyone who can help you find the answers that you need, it is him.”

The baron looked at his old friend, reluctantly. He was sure Jérôme meant it well but … this situation was too serious for a well meant advice that in the end led to the wrong consequences.

“I don´t know, Jérôme. This whole thing seems to be rooted within the army. Maybe it´s unwise to turn to someone who is affiliated with them.”

“Maybe. But Henry is different. I know him, Grégoire. He´s a man of honor. And he´s loyal to the king. If it is true what your friends say, then this conspiracy within the military is a great crime against France and the king, and he will not approve to it. Quite the contrary. He´ll do everything in his power to find those men, and bring them to justice, before they can do any more harm, maybe even to the king. You only need to convince him that the king might suffer if they are not punished. Then he will do everything in his power to help you.”

The baron watched his friend, in his conviction.“And you´re sure about this?”

“I know the man for years, Grégoire. He saved my life once. I would trust him blindly, any time.”

The baron lowered his gaze, thoughtfully and nodded. He still felt uncomfortable with this. But Jérôme had always been an expert in human nature. When he said this man was loyal to king and country, he believed him.

“All right then.” he said. “But I hope your friend has resources to protect himself. Because the people we go against, will not stop to even attack a high ranking officer like him. They already did this.”

But Jérôme was faithful. “Don´t worry.” he said. “Henry is brave. He never feared any enemy, no matter where they came from. And he does have resources. If anyone can protect you, and your friends, it is him.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“What now, Papa?” Cosette asked him, after the sisters had settled them into some rooms, small but sufficient. She had lived in such circumstances for a great part of her life, so he knew it was familiar for her. As if she came home after years of traveling. Marius on the other hand should be a little out of place here. But he didn´t seem to mind in any way.

“How long are we gonna be here?” Cosette wanted to know, and her gaze was determined to get an answer. She wouldn´t accept an: I don´t know. But unfortunately this was all Valjean could give her.

“I don´t know.” he sighed and faced them both. “Cosette. Marius. I want you to keep quiet. Don´t tell anyone why we came here. You know the sisters never talk, so you both are safe here.”

“What about you?” the light of his life wanted to know, and yet again he could only sigh and shake his head, knowing she wouldn´t like what he had to say.

“I need to go back.” he told her.

“No.”

“Cosette.” he took her hands. “As long as these people are out there, we´ll never be safe. And we can´t just leave. Not anymore.”

He knew he´d scared her, but there was simply no other way he could have said that.

“Papa.”

“No more words. You will be safe here.” he assured her. “Just stay here and … wait.”

“What do you want to do?” Marius dared to ask, and Valjean looked up at him.

“Whatever I can … to help Javert …” his eyes met Cosette again.

“No.”

“… find these men.” he insisted on finishing what he had to say. “And bring them to justice, for what they did.”

“What did they do?” Marius tone was very serious, very demanding, as if he already guessed the truth. But of course Valjean could not tell him. This was a truth he could never share, no matter how much the boy might deserve it. He´d been there after all. Had barely survived it. Yet, he was still just a kid. And as such he should not carry even more of this burden.

Valjean smiled at him, warmly, laying a hand around the boy´s neck. “Don´t worry. You two take care of each other.”

“I want to help you, Monsieur.”

“No, Marius. You are still recovering.”

“So are you, sir.” the boy insisted, but unsuccessfully.

“My wound is not as deep as yours.” Valjean told him, and even Marius seemed to understand that he was not talking about the simple flesh wound of his body. “Don´t fear for me.” he told them both. “I know my ways. I will be safe.” he chuckled. “I´m under police protection after all.”

But Cosette didn´t laugh for him, at his joke. Her face darkened at his words, so full of hate for the man he´d just mentioned.

Valjean took her in, embracing her, and placed a kiss her on the head. “I will be back. I promise.”

And with that he left them, walking out to join the man that once upon a time had been his enemy.

Javert was deep in thought, studying a paper. It was the drawing they had found in Marianne´s place. He´d never taken it out of his pocket ever since, as if it were a talisman with magic powers. A magic power he now tried to understand, judging by the deep frown between his eyes.

Valjean stepped to his side. “Well.” he spoke and Javert turned to face him. “What are we gonna do next?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He didn´t feel well with the thought to leave his old friend behind. But he figured it was safer for Jérôme this way. That he´d had to involve him in any way had been too much risk already. He didn´t need to get endangered any more, by being seen with him, in the city. They still didn´t know whom to trust, so spies and enemies could be hidden at every corner. If someone spotted him it would be risky enough. No need to get Jérôme to their attention too.

“Are you sure, you don´t want me to come with you?” he asked him, once again, and the old baron gave him a smile.

“It´s all right, Jérôme.” he said. “I´m only going to talk to your friend. You say dropping your name should be enough, and I don´t want you to be seen with me.”

Jérôme still didn´t look happy, so the baron padded his shoulder, reassuringly. “He´s a high ranking officer.” he recalled what in fact Jérôme had told him. “Every visit to him will be official. Many people will know about it. No way for anyone to do something secretly. I´ll be totally safe. And so will be your friend. The best way to destroy their plan is to attack them all in the open.” the baron spoke, handing his friend the letter he´d just written.

“I pray you´re right, old friend.” Jérôme sighed, heavily, and looked down on the letter in his hand. “And I hope your friends, whoever they are, are worth that risk.”

“It´s not about them.” the baron spoke. “I do this for my grandson. He´s the only family I have left.”

And at those words not even Jérôme could argue anymore. All he did was nodding, silently, and promise him to send the letter, as soon as he got into the city.

It was the last time the two men ever spoke.


	11. Shadows of the Past

 

It was only a day into their stay at the Inn, and Valjean already felt restless. What were they doing here but waiting? His mind had not been able to get away from Cosette, no matter how hard he tried to focus on the situation. How was she holding up, what was she doing? Was she worried? Probably.

It didn´t help much, that Valjean understood why they had to be here, waiting as they did. He understood that they had to wait for the baron´s message, here, where he´d seen them last. And before they heard of him there was really nothing they could do. But damn, they did nothing. Nothing but sitting fat on their asses. It was frustrating.

And then, when the messenger entered the place, asking for a certain Monsieur Pineau, his heart stopped for a moment. Had they been discovered? Or had he lived the life of a fugitive for way too long, that he didn´t know any other way to react than this?

The innkeeper took the message and the man left. Valjean could tell that he was not interested in the place any longer. Still his guts felt awkward, watching him go.

“Monsieur.” the innkeeper addressed him, and his gaze told Valjean clearly that he guessed something. Maybe not what was really going on, but definitely that something was going on. 

Valjean took the note from him, thanking him politely, and left to read it in private.

It was from the baron, all right. And the news even sounded encouraging, at least in a hesitant way. So far there was nothing new, but at least the note spoke of some hope, that there would be something soon. Surely not even Javert would be able to argue with that.

He found the ex police man outside, behind the house, sitting on a bench, a coffee in hand, and something sitting on the bench beside him that looked suspiciously like a bag of candy. 

The ex culprit could not suppress his chuckle, seeing Javert chew so greedily, and earned himself a glare for it.

“Is that Marcipan?” he asked and Javert instinctively reached for the bag, closing it.

“Yes.” he finished chewing the mouthful he had. Valjean raised a hand.

“I didn´t plan to take them away from you.” he assured the inspector, and somehow Javert must have realized how his gesture looked. He let go of the bag, demonstratively. No food rivalry here. Because that would be childish. Right?

“It´s good for the nerves.” Javert grumbled, as if he needed to explain himself and Valjean smiled as he sat down, the bag between them on the bench. 

“I see.” 

He knew the former inspector had been as restless as he´d been. Inactivity was nothing either of them was very contempt with. Only that Javert would deal with this stress by consuming sweets was in a startling way funny to watch. Valjean regarded the bag a little closer, curious now. The brandname read Niederegger. 

“I think I know these.” he found. “I bought them for Cosette once. It wasn´t her taste. They´re only made in Germany.”

“And they get delivered to Paris, once each month.” Javert affirmed, as if he knew more about this than Valjean. “They come through here first. The Innkeeper is related to the fabricant in Lübeck.” he gave Valjean a blank gaze, answering his astonishment, and informed him: “I know that ever since I stayed here the first time.” He rolled his eyes. “Some women talk more than you want to hear, even if you don´t encourage them.” He took a sip from his coffee and somehow managed it to simultaneously shake his head. “Seriously. I only wanted to pay the damn stuff, not hear the whole goddamn family history. I got to hear it anyway.”

Valjean´s smile grew. “And?” he asked. “Did you enjoy to converse with someone for a change?”

“I didn´t converse.” Javert mocked his word. “I let her talk until she was finished. Like I always do.”

“Must be the reason why you´re making friends wherever you go.”

The glare he got was deadly. “Are you trying to piss me off?” Javert rasped, and for some reason it made Valjean chuckle, amused, in a very good way. One he´d almost forgotten that it could exist. And so easily at that. 

Javert only turned away from him, and downed the rest of his coffee, as if it were Cognac, taking a deep breath afterward, as if he waited for the caffeine to do its work. Eventually, after the caffeine had reached his brain, he turned back to Valjean. 

“What do you have there?” he asked, gazing at his hands.

Valjean needed a moment to realize what he was talking about. He´d almost forgotten about the note. 

“It´s from the baron.” he handed it to Javert. “He found out about a man he wants to speak to.” he summarized, even though Javert was reading it eagerly. “Maybe we´ll get some answers soon.”

Javert´s eyes suddenly stopped moving over the letter, frozen on something that obviously didn´t mean anything good to him, judging by his pale expression.

“What?” Valjean tensed. “What is it?”

The former inspector closed his eyes. “If he really went to see him …” he said. “He´s already dead by now.”

“What?” Valjean felt cold, but the panic he felt did not seem to infect Javert.

“Dammit.” he growled, quietly. He shook his head, in despair as it seemed. “You were right. I should have never let the old man go back alone.”

“Who is this man?” Valjean wanted to know, needed to know.

“He commands the Serpents Corail. Administrates the black list.” Javert told him. “He´s the one who gives the orders … Who gave the orders to kill me and all the others.” 

Valjean felt cold all over again. The baron. He hadn´t known. He´d had no idea that he´d step right into the lion´s den. And now … Javert was right. He had to be dead. Of course they would have killed him right away, as soon as he showed up, asking questions like theirs. Valjean closed his eyes. Dear god, please forgive us. 

“I need to go back.” Javert decided, next to him, waking him up from his prayer. “I can´t just hide away here.”

Valjean jumped up, to follow, as the former inspector obviously intended to jump on the next horse right away.

“If you go back you will be recognized.” he cried, holding him back. And to his great surprise Javert turned to face him with no resistance.

“Not if you help me to hide.” he spoke, totally blindsiding him. “You managed it to hide from me, all those years. Lived right under my nose, and I didn´t see you.” Valjean felt out of place, all the sudden. Did he really hear those words, and no accusation hidden underneath it? “Do this again.” Javert asked from him. “And this time do it for me. Show me how you did this. How you get invisible.” 

And for some reason that was beyond any conscious thought, Valjean found himself nodding, in absolute agreement. Yeah. Now finally he had his answer. This, and only this, was the reason why he was here.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The general sighed as he looked down on the man before him. So old and yet so dangerous. Gillenormand was unconscious. But not dead. Not yet. Because he hadn´t ordered it yet. But he would. Eventually he would.

Bourguignon turned around, and left the room. His man followed, a little bit startled about this sudden retrieve. He couldn´t understand anyway. He was not the one who had to give the orders. And it wasn´t even Gillenormand who gave him so much trouble. This man was a stranger to him. Despereaux on the other hand. He´d been a friend to him, back in the days when they had served their time in the army. Good old Jérôme. Reliable, under normal circumstances. They hadn´t had any contact in years. And now the first message he got from his old comrade was … this. He couldn´t let this go unanswered.

Sure, Jérôme had not known, or he wouldn´t have sent his friend to him. To his certain death. But still. It was an action that was too severe to ignore it.

“Sir.” Moreau addressed him, and Bourguignon turned to face him. He only nodded, already knowing what his adjutant wanted to ask.

Jérôme was a viability. And as far as this mission was concerned, he could not allow his own personal feelings to endanger him or any of the others. They´d gone too far for this. A single life really didn´t mean much anymore. Not in this.

God, he had condemned men and women to die, for years. And all the sudden he felt regret to speak the sentence. But he had no choice. For all their sakes. 

“I know this isn´t easy.” Moreau offered some words of comfort. “But we have no choice. No single man is worth to risk our larger goal.”

Bourguignon glared at him, silencing the man. Who did he think he was? Did he think Bourguignon didn´t know this himself?

The younger officer lowered his gaze, humbly.

“ Jérôme Desperaux will pay for his interfering.” he told Moreau. “But not yet.”

“Sir?” 

“You heard me. I have plans for him, before we take him out.” 

Moreau stared at him, irritated for a moment. But eventually he nodded, obediently. “Of course, Monsieur.” he halted again. “If I may … What about the baron?”

And Bourguignon thought, nodding at last. “He will be taken care of.” he spoke and faced his inferior. “Go now. You have your orders.”

And of course Moreau obeyed. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They needed a whole day back to Paris, to get unseen to Valjean´s old house. A whole day of driving beside a silent Javert, who wouldn´t talk much, even if Valjean tried to attempt a conversation. After a while he´d just given up. Whatever was preying on Javert´s mind, it wouldn´t come out if he pressed him. And was it that hard to understand anyway? They´d agreed to let the baron be their spy. And now he was dead. Because of them. Because they had been hiding, while another, much older man, had gone to face the dragon. 

The carriage was too big to not to raise any attention, so leaving it on the street was impossible. Valjean had to hurry ahead, to open the gate to the garden, so Javert could swiftly steer it through the street and out of sight for everyone who might wonder about this big thing standing about in their street. Thanks God the walls around the garden were high. 

But oh God, it was a strange feeling to be back here. And without Cosette. Not even Toussaint was here. She´d been dismissed from her duties, when they´d left the city, until further notice. And so the house seemed empty to Valjean, and like abandoned by all the children. Javert was there, but the former inspector did not seem to feel welcome or in the right place, so he wasn´t even a guest. Somehow even Valjean felt like a stranger now. As if he didn´t belong here anymore.

“Tomorrow, we will go into the city.” Javert decided, out of the blue, maybe just to fill some of the awkward and pressing silence. “And try to find out what happened to the baron.”

Valjean sighed, and didn´t know anything else to respond than a nod. It was strange. Too strange. He didn´t know what was before him, barely what was behind him. And even though he´d lived half his life like that, it was all new to him. As if he´d never been a fugitive before. But he had been.

Javert got up from his seat, catching Valjean´s attention, as he walked over to the window, in utter silence. His posture was tensed, a heavy cloud of restlessness hanging over him. Frustration. Anger. All at once. His eyes didn´t meet Valjean´s but it was obvious that he was well aware of the eyes that lay on him, watching carefully.

“Look what became of me.” he spoke at last, almost too quiet to hear, hadn´t the room been so deadly silent. Valjean didn´t dare to speak, to give a response. He only kept watching, as the former inspector turned to face him, at last. As if he knew, that this conversation was something he couldn´t delay any longer. That at one point or another they would have to speak about it. And if he wouldn´t do it now, he´d burst from the inside out, from the pressure.

“Look at me.” the angry chuckle that he gave, was only a tiny expression of the enormous tension that was still hidden underneath. “I became you.” he rasped, and finally he laughed, bitterly. “24601.” His eyes closed for a moment, like in a silent prayer. “We all become what we fear.” It really sounded like a prayer, and without looking at Valjean again, he turned back to the window, as if there was something out there, to give him an answer to all the unspoken questions that tortured him. “I never wanted to go back there.”

Valjean felt a stitch of something, at those words. Something he´d stored away, and now came back to him, to be remembered.

“You said that before.” he recalled, getting up from his seat. “Javert. And what you said about your father …”

“Don´t talk to me about my father.” the other man warned, and alone the look in his eyes, made Valjean stop in his steps.

Something was there, all the sudden. Something that hadn´t been there before. And from one moment to the other, Valjean began to understand. It seemed so clear all the sudden, that he wondered, not understanding at all, how he could have missed this all this time. But it was a dangerous ground he was walking here.

“My father was a worker.” he tried a different approach. “Or he tried.” he shrugged. “Until the day he died.”

Javert turned to him, frowning, probably wondering what the hell he tried to say with that. But Valjean ignored it.

“I was still a child.” he kept telling him. “My mother was left with me and my sister, all alone. She died a year later, from the labor we put on her. My sister took care of me, for she was the older one. I still don´t know how she kept me alive till I was grown. I tried to repay her, by working as hard as I could. I was a pruner then, and all my sister had after her husband´s death. With seven children … her youngest son already close to death …”

Javert´s what the hell-gaze, changed for a moment, at those last words, in recognition. “The one you stole that bread for.” he remembered, and Valjean halted, startled that this little fact had indeed not been forgotten by Javert.

“Yes.” he nodded. “I don´t even know if he survived. Any of them. If they still live or if they´re dead. How would I know? While I was in prison … under your care.” he attempted a joke, but Javert turned away from him. “I never knew.” he went on. “I never heard of them again. I could have searched for them, all right. But what good would it do? To go back to this old life. When I had come so far. In sweat … and pain. And fear from discovery.”

“Why are you telling me all this?” Javert at last looked back at him, as if his last words had hit him somehow. And Valjean just smiled.

“Whatever it is, you are ashamed of, Javert. It couldn´t shock me. Or make me turn away, disgusted. This is what you fear people would do, right?” He shook his head, shrugging, to show the other man that none of this mattered. Not to him. “Look at me.” he said. “Look at what I was.”

But all Javert did, was laughing dryly, without looking back at him.

For a moment Valjean felt as if he´d made a mistake. Maybe approaching this subject had been wrong. Javert didn´t seem as if he wanted to work it out. At all. Whatever it was. And then all the sudden, Valjean remembered something else. As if memories had chosen to come home to him, all at once, right in this moment, if he wanted it or not.

“This man …” he spoke. “Moreau. He said they know. Your superiors. He said that´s the reason why they wanted you to take the blame. For crimes they would commit.” And in this moment, hearing his own words, speaking it out loud, Valjean knew why. “Because …”

“Because the son of a convict is likely to commit a crime himself.” Javert spoke it out, before he could, and turned around to face him straight. “Exactly.” he snarled. “Are you happy now?” 

Valjean flinched when the former inspector started moving, believing he would attack him now, for this violation of his privacy. But all Javert did was walking past him, down the room, as if he just couldn´t stand it anymore to be that close to him.

“This is what they believe.” he spoke, not looking back at him. “And everyone else will believe it too. Especially with the proof they have. And this past of mine. My heritage.” He sighed, heavily. “For years and years I have tried to forget. To let the world forget, about this gutter I grew up in. And now look at me.” he finally turned back to him, arms spread. “I´ve fallen back into this darkness I came out of. Fell back to be the scum I was before.”

Valjean had never believed it possible to feel that much of compassion for a man that had been his nightmare, his nemesis. And yet, seeing him now, so lost, and disgusted with himself, his appearance resembling a poor, not the police man he´d used to be, Valjean couldn´t help himself. His heart was not his own when it came to compassion like this. It had never been.

And oh, he did understand. 

“You didn´t fall.” he spoke, quietly. “Javert. You were pushed. By people who do not understand … that what you only see as scum … are some of God´s most cherished gems, only fallen to misfortune. Some of these gems …” he gestured at Javert, with an encouraging smile. “Manage it to rise again, and shine in glory.” He pointed at himself as well, with a shrug. “Does that not tell you anything?”

But Javert´s gaze darkened. “I rose once.” he rasped, nodding, and the blaze in his eyes was pure hate. “And I fell back. Blinded by a light, that shone from a darkness where there should not be a light. At all.” 

Valjean looked into those flashing eyes, and all the sudden he understood, what Javert had not spoken. Who he was speaking of. 

He opened his mouth, unable to decide what he wanted to say, but Javert was faster.

“You murdered me, Valjean.” he told him, way too quiet, but the meaning of his words went through Valjean´s heart like a knife. “The man you knew as Javert is dead. And for that, I will never forgive you. And I will always hate you.” 

The glare that was on him was devastating. Valjean did not know what to say. He felt like a murderer. Like the worst scum in the world, just by seeing the hate in those eyes. Not for him being a thief, or for being on the run all these years. But for something he had done to this man, personally, maybe without knowing it, but that didn´t change the facts. What he saw right there was real. And it stayed in those eyes, never decreasing, until the former inspector, Valjean´s old foe, could not stand it any longer, and marched out of the room.

It took a long time, before Valjean felt able to stir from the spot.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bourguignon looked up as his adjutant entered the office, watching as Moreau clicked his heels almost viciously. 

“What are your orders?” he asked, and Bourguignon held out a note and a letter for him.

The other man took both, uncertain. 

“Let this be delivered to Desperaux.” Bourguignon ordered. “The note reads that Jérôme shall deliver the letter to baron Gillenormand´s grandson.”

Moreau glanced up at him, an asking brow raised. “Did he write that himself?”

Bourguignon only snorted. “In the end the old man´s hand wouldn´t have been steady enough. But fakers are good at what they do if you pay them enough. It will do, to convince Jérôme. His eyes have never been the best, even when he was young. He will have the address the baron protected so stubbornly and when he sends the letter on its way, I want you to follow the messenger. If we are lucky, this will lead us to the boy.”

Moreau nodded, eagerly. But he didn´t leave yet. 

“Anything else?” Bourguignon asked, but he already knew what Moreau wanted.

“I hope you forgive me, sir. But Despereaux. After he sent the letter … He´s of no further value for us. Or am I mistaken about this?”

Bourguignon sighed. “No. You´re not mistaken.” He took another moment to harden his heart for the task he had to accomplish now, and eventually he nodded.

“Give the order.” he said, and Moreau seemed satisfied. “Jérôme Despereaux must vanish. Quietly. After he sent the letter. You will take care of the boy. Let your men take care of Jérôme.”

Before Moreau could leave, he called him back on last time though. “Tell them to make it quick.” he ordered. “He shall not suffer.”

Moreau looked at him, without a word, and nodded. Nothing more. The life of a man was forfeited.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was the worst night ever. Even sleeping in this verminous bed at the stews had not been that hard. Because this here, was Valjean´s house, and he lay on a bed that was owned by the man he hated with all his heart. Just knowing that he was relying on him, more than he ever relied on anyone else in this world, made him sick. How could fate be that cruel? How could any of this been meant as this oh so godforsaken fate, Marianne had spoken of? What fate could this be? A test for his stamina? His inner strength to stand the greatest torture a human mind was capable to imagine?

Maybe he hadn´t been saved by Marianne after all. Maybe he´d fallen, and she had missed his hand, and what he believed to be his life now, was nothing but one of the nine circles of hell. Because this was what it felt like. Hell. 

Finding sleep was impossible. Or so he thought. Until he woke at last in the morning, with the remains of some memories, of a dream he´d dreamed. A dream in which he´d been back at the pharmacy. Marianne had been there, and so had Valjean, sitting in a corner quietly, looking with eagle eyes, as if he´d been the one to lure in the shadows, waiting for Javert to show his face. As if Valjean had been his shadow, all these years, not the other way around. And Marianne. She´d not talked to him either. She´d seemed busy, preparing something. Some medicine for her shop. Javert remembered seeing her, walking through the door … but that was about all he could remember. 

God, he felt drained. The light that shone in through the window was sallow and it hurt his eyes. He could tell that it was a cool morning, probably foggy until the warmth of the sun would chase the chill away. There´d been a time when he´d enjoyed this kind of coolness in the early hours of the day. It almost made him sad to think of this, now that he despised the same fresh air. Where was the time, when things had been good in his life? When he´d known who he was, and where he belonged.

It didn´t help. Feeling sorry for himself would not accomplish anything, or solve any of his problems. So he got up, rolling out of this bed, he´d not wanted to be in anyway, and spotted a pitcher of water and a bowl with a towel, sitting on the bureau, where there hadn´t been anything last night. 

For a moment, his heart leaped, in alarm. Valjean. But then he made himself calm down. He wasn´t in any danger here. Not physically at least. Mentally … this was a different matter. Hospitality from a source like that could drive a man crazy. 

But it was as it was, and Javert didn´t have the time to wonder about these things. He washed, and dressed, again in this old rag that he had worn ever since they´d left Paris. No time to pack anything else to change into, and he would do hell and ask Valjean for something of his. He was supposed to stage as a beggar dammit. What beggar ran around with a wardrobe of casual change? 

He went to the sitting room, ready to give Valjean a royal dressing down for his morning greeting, combined with some orders to finally get something done. But when he saw the man, his words died dry in his throat. The noble robes were gone, replaced by old rags similar to those Javert was wearing. The salt and pepper curls on Valjean´s head were gone too, shaved short and scrubby, and the usually so smooth face was dark with the shadow of a beard. If it hadn´t been for the man´s well-fed exterior, Javert would have believed to see the prisoner from all those years ago, somehow transported to this present day. 

But the expression in his eyes was different than he remembered it from those days. Calmer. Wiser somehow. Knowing. No, this was not the past he was seeing. This was now. And it wasn´t a dream either. But surely it had to be a joke.

“What the hell are you doing?” he shouted at the man, unable to hide his irritation.

But all Valjean did, was looking at him, blankly. 

“What?” he retorted. “You asked me to do this, remember? You wanted me to show you how to get invisible. Well, this is how it works.” He picked up something, Javert could not identify and threw it. Javert caught it, and the cloth fell apart to a long, old bandage. “Wind that around your head.” Valjean instructed him. “You were on a good way already, but you need to hide more of your face.”

Javert narrowed his eyes, taking in once again, this oh so familiar appearance of the man before him.

“Do you feel homesick for Toulon?” he asked, aiming well, but his attempt to strike a nerve missed its target.

“I can hardly walk around with you, wearing fine clothes.” Valjean reasoned, ignoring the comment. “I would look rather misplaced, now would I?”

Strike right back. One point for the ex prisoner. Javert suppressed a grumble. Unbelievable. Just unbelievable. Who did this man think he was? And even more unbelievable was, that he even did what he said. The bandage was awkward, but somehow he managed it to wind it around his head, without letting it look like a failed turban. 

He hated it when Valjean regarded him, estimating. Judging how well he´d done. And he hated it even more that he was relieved when Valjean nodded. 

“Try to bow a little.” the older man advised him. “Like this.” And he showed him the movement, of a man having trouble walking uptight, obviously expecting him to imitate it. As if Javert was a student of the world´s worst and most pitiful drama school. “Try it.” he insisted.

“That´s ridiculous.” Javert growled. “I´m not gonna play around for your amusement.”

Valjean gave up on his lesson, raising a brow, as if to say: All right all right, you old grumbler. And strange as it was, Javert almost imagined him saying those exact same words. Only he didn´t.

“So now Monsieur fugitive slash undercover expert.” he spoke at last, forcing the conversation on, into a more productive direction. “Where do we go?”

But here Valjean shook his head. “This is my part.” he spread his arms, indicating the disguises. “And I´ve done that. Now I´ll gladly follow your lead.”

Javert only snorted. “We´ll see about that.”


	12. Wounds so Deep they never Show

 

**Another change in appearance for these two characters. Looks funny, doesn´t it? But still kinda cool. But that´s just my opinion.**

* * *

 

**Wounds so Deep they never Show**

 

When the letter came in, the innkeeper was not all that surprised. He´d known something was up with these people. After so many years of overhearing conversations on his tables, he´d learned to stay quiet and not to interfere with anything. You lived saver if you remained invisible to the guests. The old advice to every servant in this world did not exist for nothing. After the servant entered the room, it should be a little more empty.

But that didn´t mean the servant wasn´t there. And neither was the innkeeper. He´d heard the young people talk, that morning when they´d left. He´d heard what they had spoken, about the convent not far from here. And since he was no one to interfere with anyone else´s business, he sent the messenger on his way, to deliver the letter to the person it belonged to.

Neither he nor the messenger himself had any idea, that another person was watching from the shadows, waiting patiently to finally find the destination of said letter. And just now, it seemed, this destination was only one more step away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The house was easy to find. Javert knew the address by heart. He´d never been there, but the place was well known, in one of the better parts of the city. He only hoped that their disguise would not give them away there, instead of hiding them. But he had to learn that people as pitiful as they looked right now, were truly everywhere. Even right under the nose of the rich.

It wasn´t that he hadn´t known that. Only had he never looked that close, and with this perspective. Somehow he felt strange to be in this place. As if he was no longer up there, able to look down. But merely a part of what was down here. A grain of sand, as unimportant and unnoticed as all the other thousands. And in this universe that was so foreign to him, as sunlight was to a grub that never saw the light of day, it was Valjean who stood by his side, guiding him through this darkness of the unknown.

The only thing in fact, that was not unknown to Javert, was the big carriage parked in front of the house, harnessed to it two noble black horses, patiently waiting for their masters to demand from them to move on. And the uniforms of course, posted to guard the vehicle.

Javert felt a stitch of pain, at their sight. This had been him once. These young faces, stony and proud of their position, despite the pathetic pay they got for their duty. Had he looked like that too? Back in the days? When he´d been young like they were? Not knowing how many varieties of tripping hazards life would hold for him?

He noticed Valjean´s gaze on him, and turned his own face to stone. What are you looking at, con? Nothing to be seen here.

The front door of the house opened, and the two of them hid, in the shadow of their corner. There he was. Henry Bourguignon. Javert knew him instantly, even though he´d never met the man in person. But his uniform was unique among his men, and even if it hadn´t been for that, his presence just gave him away, as the man in charge. This was a man who knew he held the life of others in his hand. Literally and figuratively.

They watched him enter his carriage, and drive away at last, to whatever duty he had to attempt somewhere else. If he was honest Javert didn´t even care. It was not the man he´d come here for. It was his house.

Getting inside was easy, now that the general was gone. The door opened willingly, after only a few swift turns of his lock pick, and they were inside. Unseen by anyone.

The general´s office was upstairs. The first room to search, reasonably. If they shouldn´t find what they needed here, there would be at least seven or more rooms to go for. Javert hoped it wouldn´t come that far.

“What exactly are we looking for?” Valjean asked, gazing about. “If he sent orders to execute people, they wouldn´t be here but with the people who got them.”

Javert rolled his eyes, at this unnecessary conclusion of the other man. “Orders like that are never written down.” he informed him. “They´re only given verbally.”

“Then what are we looking for?”

“Anything. Something that gives us a hint to who is pulling the strings behind all this. To who is giving the orders to Moreau and his men.“

He went behind the big desk, going through the post and documents there, neatly stacked, ordered by importance and currency. He took care not to disarrange anything. If it was possible, no one should notice that someone had been here.

“Like this for example?” Valjean spoke, holding up a letter from the bureau that contained the same amount of stacks as the desk. He must have spotted it by pure chance. Javert frowned but took it.

“Dear Monsieur le Generale,” he read it loud. “I know you´ve been pursued by Talbert and his affiliates, to execute some of your very special operations, and that they tried to make you believe that it was for the good of the country. But I hereby pursue you to step back from these orders, for it is a lie. Nothing good can come of these things, and a fair share of wealth can never pay off for the crimes that would be committed in their names. Not even Le …” he stopped, at the name that stood there. “Not even Lecomte could ensure such promises as these people have made.” he went on. “It would be a minor win, at best, for it is shown by history that treats like this can never last long, and merely worsens things at best.”

He didn´t read the rest. It contained only the usual formal greeting at the end of every letter a gentleman wrote to another. Meaningless. Nothing compared to what he´d read above. Javert felt his blood boiling at the ridiculousness of the words.

“What the hell is this guy talking about?” he burst out. “Lecomte? He´s supposed to be involved in this? That´s impossible.”

“It … certainly seems so … according to this letter.” Valjean seemed unsure, careful of Javert´s reaction. And wasn´t he right? This name in such a context. It was unthinkable. Almost as unthinkable as the idea of a highly respected inspector suddenly finding himself on the other side, hunted by his own men.

Javert looked at the letter again, at the address of the sender.

“Jacques Laffitte.”

“The former financial secretary.”

“I know who he is.” Javert snapped, fuming, and Valjean was quiet. “And who´s this guy?” he pointed at the name. “Talbert?”

Something about Valjean´s reaction told him that the name rang a distant bell.

“I know his name somewhere.” he affirmed, frowning deeply as he tried to remember. But he failed, shaking his head, as if that would loosen the stuck memory somehow. “I … I can´t place him.”

“Think harder man.” Javert knew it was useless to blame him for his stubborn memory, but he couldn´t help it.

“I´m trying!” Valjean replied, insulted, and Javert forced his mind to calm down. There was no sense in trying to pursue someone because of his memory. Valjean was not a young man anymore, and Javert could tell that he wouldn´t remember, not now at least.

“I can´t believe it.” he spoke, more to himself than to Valjean. “Lecomte couldn´t have done that.”

“I know, he was your friend but …”

“This has nothing to do with what he was to me.” Javert would not let him turn this into a sentimental talk. “He wouldn´t have the authority to give such an order. Not to Bourguignon.”

For a moment Valjean was silent. But there was something in his eyes. Something that spoke of more.

“Maybe he did.” he then said. “If he had the right arguments.”

Javert frowned. What?

“Do you remember what Moreau said, when you questioned him?” Valjean recalled. “He said he didn´t do all this, only for the money. He called himself a patriot.”

Javert remembered. Of course he remembered. But no. “That´s ridiculous. How could someone justify greed like this, with patriotism? This is clearly about nothing more than money.”

He shook the letter in his hand, as if the gesture could shake the decadence of this whole affair out of it. And beside him Valjean suddenly smiled at him, irritating the heck out of him. What the hell was the matter with this man?

“Moreau was right, wasn´t he?” he said, and Javert was close to skip back in irritation. “They would have never convinced you about this reasoning?”

Javert glared at him, getting more and more angry with each passing second. “You want to tell me that you see the reasoning in this?” he cried. “Then tell me, 601.” He didn´t get an answer. “Once a thief always a thief.” the former inspector growled. “Of course, you´d understand them.”

“You were the one who could justify murder with the land´s best interest. Not me.” Valjean gave back, as if this was nothing to him. “Is it that hard for you to imagine that someone else justifies greed the same way?`”

“Yes, Valjean.” Javert spoke through his teeth. “It is. Taking out dangerous people is a precaution. And has nothing to do with greed.”

“What could make someone so dangerous that it justifies killings like that?”

“Knowledge. Influence. And power to do things, wrong things, that would lead to even worse events, fatal events. Just as this revolt at the barricades. Wouldn´t you rather have one man killed, if it had resulted in these revolts never happening? Over six hundreds of lives saved, by taking out one man?”

Valjean stared at him, pale at the suggestion, and swallowed uncomfortable.

“You could never know …” he brought out. “If that would have stopped it. You couldn´t know. Ever.”

“It would be worth the try.”

After Javert had spoken this, they stood in silence for a while, each of them overshadowed by his own desperate uncertainty. Until Valjean spoke up again.

“What do you think makes you so dangerous for them now? What could you do, that´s so threatening for them that they have to take that chance?”

Javert eyed him, blindsided for a moment, by how close Valjean had hit to home with this question.

“I will take them to justice.” he answered the question. “I´ll make them pay. … And Lecomte knows that.” He closed his eyes, finally accepting that indeed this was true. That the man he´d believed he must save … had been the one who wanted his death all along. The one who might have started this whole thing in the first place. The biggest criminal of them all. A murderer, by the act of a formal order, for he was probably too much of a coward to use his own hands.

“God, I´ve been so stupid.” he exclaimed. “How could I not see it?”

And in this moment, something came back to him, from out of the blue, but exactly because of this, so much clearer now. His hand shot down, to his pocket, and brought out the drawing again. He needed to look for it, the scribbled words on the back suddenly seemed to avoid detection. But then he saw it. Just two words, meaningless back then. But oh so telling now. Devastatingly telling.

“It was him.” he then knew, without any doubt. “Dear God.”

“What?”

Javert looked up, into the face of the other man, and he felt as if all the blood had been drained from his stomach at this discovery.

“The second man.” he spoke, hoarsely. “The one she never named. Gareaux said she knew something. Someone who was involved.” he closed his eyes for a moment, against the dizziness this reveal had brought with it. “She drew the one she didn´t know.” Valjean still didn´t understand, so Javert showed it to him. The truth he´d finally found in Marianne´s notes. “Le Officer.” he read it for him. “Lecomte´s nickname, from many years ago, when he started as a police man.” Javert once again closed his eyes. “She knew him. And she knew him well.” His hand clutched the paper as if it had an own will, to express its master´s feelings.

How did a poor pharmacist know a high ranking officer like Lecomte? There was only one way for her to have known him.

“But …” Valjean visibly tried to make heads or tails of this. “If Lecomte was the one of importance, she could have told Gareaux about him right away.”

Javert shook his head. “She wanted to. As soon as her sister was safe. Only she never got a chance anymore.” He met Valjean´s gaze again, and nodded. “You´re right. She would have named him. But this man …” he smoothed the paper again, regarding the drawing this time. “He´s important too. He´s the one she couldn´t name for Gareaux. That´s why she drew this.”

He looked down on this drawing, and what had been like the last message of a brave fallen angel before, now felt like the proof of a lie, carved in stone, to mock him for all eternity.

“Some spy, indeed.”

“Javert.” Valjean took a step closer, one hand reaching out, just barely touching his arm, to comfort somehow. And Javert needed all his self control to not hit this hand away and shout at the man to leave him alone. That this was none of his business. Who did he think he was, to pride himself on knowing what was going on in Javert´s heart? There was no heart, nothing that needed his comfort.

“You …” he started but further he didn´t come. There was suddenly a noise outside, the sound of hooves on the plaster and the heavy wheels of a big carriage. Of course it was Bourguignon and his men they saw, exiting the fiacre, to enter the house again. As if it was an unwritten rule by now that things just couldn´t go without trouble in this affair.

“He must have forgotten something.” Valjean gasped, and Javert cursed, under his breath. There were already footsteps outside, coming up the stairs. No chance of getting out again, unseen.

“I don´t assume you can make us truly invisible?” he rasped and of course the answer was no.

“I´m afraid not.” Valjean´s eyes were fixed on the door, while Javert could only see the window, behind them.

“God, how often do I have to climb out of windows before this is over?” He opened it, not even finished speaking, but Valjean was not as eager to follow him this time.

“I can´t climb out.” he objected, as if the mere idea was crazy. “Not with my shoulder.”

“You can.” Javert pushed him towards the window. “And you will if you want to live.” He went back to the door, shoving the bureau before it, to block the entrance, just when someone tried to open it. The wood of the door collided with the bureau, and from outside there was a startled exclaim.

“What the …?”

“Go!” Javert cried, and finally Valjean moved. He climbed into the window, rather clumsily with his sling hindering him, and he would have fallen any moment, to break at least three or more bones on the street, had not Javert grabbed his hand. For a moment Valjean hung on him like a bag of bones, a cry of pain escaping him at the unexpected jerk in his good shoulder. But then he looked up, and Javert saw that he was ready. He let go, and Valjean dropped, landing on the street, not like an artist, but at least good enough to not get injured any further.

People in the street cried out, disturbed by this scene of two men who obviously tried to rob this house. Behind Javert the door got knocked against the bureau harder, making it topple over at last. And down in the street, the one guard that had been left behind to watch the fiacre, stood over Valjean, a gun in hand, ready to use it.

“Don´t move.” he ordered, and Valjean tensed.

“No!” Javert cried out, startling the guard. He flinched, not quite sure what to do with this old man that lay before him, and Javert climbed out, ready to jump. The pistol went up, aiming at him now. And Javert jumped.

The shot missed it´s target, but Javert didn´t. His feet hit the man somewhere between his shoulder and his chest, and knocked him down. After that Javert´s recollection of the fall was blurred. He remembered hitting the ground, somehow landing on Valjean, and both of their grunts of pain. A second later he must have rolled off the other man, instinctively struggling back to his feet. And so did Valjean. The men at the window above their heads, were shouting at them, to stop, that they were arrested, and should surrender.

God, Javert thought incoherently. Had he too shouted something as ridiculous as this, ever? In this moment, he just couldn´t remember. All he knew was that they were running – stumbling – away, as fast as they could.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Marius was restless. They both were. Ever since they had been left behind, like an expendable burden. Cosette tried to cheer him up, did her best to distract them both, he knew, but he also knew that her mind was with her father a lot. And how much she was worried. As much as he was worried about his grandfather. It hadn´t even been a week yet, but this uncertainty, the lack of updates, was unnerving. They simply didn´t know anything.

How would they know if anything happened to any of them? Who would tell them? Would anyone even know that they were here? The friend of his grandfather maybe. But maybe his grandfather had decided not to mention them, to make sure they´d be safe. It was impossible to tell. They simply couldn´t know. And considering this, how long should they wait here, until they would know, just know, that none of them would ever return? Before they would have to decide how to move on from here? And where to?

Too many questions. Too few answers. An impossible situation. Marius was used to take action. Not to sit down and wait. This convent drove him crazy. Hadn´t it been for Cosette he´d gone mad by now. And probably the other way around as well.

When the messenger suddenly approached him, Marius tensed, but only until the man told him he had a letter for him. At this he gladly payed him, and opened the letter eagerly, to read the news of his grandfather.

Cosette was with him immediately, looking over his shoulder. The problem was just, that there was nothing inside the letter. Only a white paper.

“What …” Marius mumbled, totally irritated. “This can´t be.” He checked the backside of the letter, and the handwriting of his grandfather was right there, naming the old inn as the letter´s destination. The innkeeper had probably told the messenger where to find them. But there had to be something inside the letter. Why should his grandfather send an empty letter?

He met Cosette´s gaze, and there was something so deeply afraid in her eyes, that it caught up to him. Before he could voice his fears, another man approached them.

“Monsieur.” he asked, politely. “May I have a word.”

Marius frowned. “Who are you?”

“My name is Moreau. I work for the man that sent you this letter. You might have guessed by now that it wasn´t your grandfather.”

It needed another moment for Marius to finally understand, and Cosette´s hand on his back, clutching the cloth of his jacket, to accept this truth.

“Where is he?” he demanded to know. “What have you done to him?”

“I´d be glad to show you.” Moreau told him. “My carriage is waiting outside. So if you´d be so kind to just follow me. The both of you, of course.”  
Marius stepped aside, instinctively shielding Cosette. But the man before him only looked at him, with this cruel kindness.

“I advise you to be reasonable. I don´t intent on hurting any of you. But believe me. If you don´t leave me a choice, I will.” When Marius didn´t make a move to obey his orders, he added: “Please, also consider these poor women here. The sisters surely don´t know any violence at all. Let´s just keep it that way. I would regret causing any of them pain.”

“You wouldn´t.” Cosette burst out at this outrageous threat. But the gaze of this man was unmoved by her shock. Marius could tell, that whatever this man said, he would do.

“Just come with me, quietly.” he said. “And I won´t have to.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Valjean was still in pain, crying out at last when they finally reached the house and his shoulder only graced the frame of the door. Even Javert flinched at the sound. But he was not the focus on Valjean´s mind.

“We can´t stay here long.” the life long fugitive spoke, through the pain. “They might have recognized us. Might have followed us.” He took a moment, to breath, his head leaning back against the wall, before he added: “I have another apartment in la Rue de l´Homme Armé.“

Javert snorted at this. “Of course you have.” And it wasn´t before that, that Valjean remembered that he had already given him this address once. In a night that seemed to be a lifetime ago.

He was still not done thinking this thought, when suddenly Javert was at him, hands grabbing his coat, peeling away his clothing, and for a moment Valjean was just too startled to know what to make of this. The former inspector jerked, once, too harsh, and Valjean cried out, while Javert exposed the injury on his shoulder.

“Let me see this.”

“It´s nothing.” Valjean claimed, irritated by the mere fact that Javert payed attention to it. “It started bleeding again. It´ll heal again.”

“Sure it will.” Javert agreed, after having examined it. He didn´t look up at Valjean. “Still it could need a new bandage.”

And as if this had made the big difference Valjean relaxed a bit. “Thanks for aiding me.” he said, in turn making Javert uncomfortable now.

“You really are a millstone around my neck.” the ex police man grumbled, and Valjean laughed. Just a moment, until the straining made his wound hurt again.

Javert sat him down, and Valjean allowed it, instantly starting to take off his old bandage, while the other man left the room. The cloth stuck to the wound, thick with half dried blood, and Valjean hissed in pain as he had to practically skin it off his shoulder. Javert was right. It desperately needed to be changed.

Before he knew what had happened, there was a bowl of water beside him, a cloth in it, for him to clean his wound, and Javert was gone once again, probably to fetch the next necessary item for this treatment. It didn´t seem to give him any trouble to find everything he needed in Valjean´s household.

After Valjean was done cleaning his injury, the former inspector went to work, renewing the bandage, without a word. His efficiency was methodical, determined, almost mechanical. As if focusing on a task like this helped him to get over something else. Something that if he´d allowed his mind to circle around it, would have given him much more trouble than a simple flesh wound on the shoulder of his longest opponent.

Valjean watched his face, so stony and concentrated, while he wound the bandages around his shoulder. And somehow Valjean could not help himself. He needed to speak it out.

“This woman … Marianne.” he began, and the little flinch in the other man´s face was so tiny, it was almost not there. Almost. “What was she to you?” he asked.

Javert didn´t look up. “Why do you ask?” he sounded annoyed.

“Your reaction.” Valjean explained. “To this … discovery … that she was a spy.”

“I knew she´d been a spy ever since Gareaux told me.” Javert objected, but Valjean knew better.

“But not like this. This was personal.”

When the blue eyes of the former inspector finally met his, they were defiant. “I knew her for only a day.” Javert told him. “And then she was dead. There´s nothing personal here.”

Valjean shook his head, sadly. “She saved your life.”

“Who knows for what reasons.” Javert washed his hands in the bowl of water, as if this talk was totally beside the point. “I knew nothing about her. She made me believe I did but … I didn´t. She was a liar just like all the others.”

“All the others?”

“People, Valjean. Everyone. Raise your hand if you never told a lie.”

Startled about this remark, Valjean saw the other man smirk, a mean gleam in his eyes. “Exactly. Everyone lies. I´ve never met a man or a woman, who was honest. I should have known she wouldn´t be different.”

As the man stood up, finished at last with his work on Valjean´s wound, he looked as if he was in pain himself. Not physically maybe. But still.

“It must be really hard for you to trust anyone.” Valjean remarked, and got a sharp glare for it.

“Look who´s talking.” Javert rasped. “24601.”

Valjean did not falter. “You´re right.” he admitted, having no reason to deny it. “I could never trust anyone. Not even with my name. I´ve lived a life in shadows. In order to live at all. It´s been … in another life, as it seems to me, that I could be myself. The one I was born at.” And as he spoke these things, he suddenly realized something, for the very first time. “I believe … you are the first and only one who ever called me by my real name in years.”

Their gazes met, yet again.

“You are the only one who really knows who I am.”

And somehow, while he was speaking, Valjean was hearing himself say those words, as if they came from someone else, revealing a truth to him, he wouldn´t have guessed in his wildest dreams. He lowered his gaze, thinking, understanding at last.

“In some way … you chasing me, kept Jean Valjean from being forgotten. From being left behind to die as the mere shadow of a memory.” His breath was shaking, when he sighed, so deeply. “Dear God.” he exclaimed. “I have died so many times by now. Was reborn just as often. I don´t know how much I still am the man I once was. A beggar in the street, a desperate thief, a prisoner … A fugitive until today.”

He heard a sigh from Javert, but coming from deep within the other man´s throat. A sigh of annoyance, not of empathy.

“What do you want to hear, Valjean?” he asked, opening his eyes to him, scowling, and his voice wasn´t so even either. “You want my pity? All right, you can have it. Take it and leave me in peace. You´ve taken everything else from me, so why not this too?”

Valjean was dumbfounded. He didn´t understand. “I never took anything from you.”

But the glare he received was so full of hate. “Don´t you dare to mock me now, Valjean. Don´t you dare.”

Valjean got up, from his seat, holding his arm against the pain.

“Whatever you think I did to you, please, tell me.” he asked the other man. “Just let me know how I can make it up to you. I never intended you to …”

Javert took a sudden step back, as if Valjean had threatened him with something, his gaze aware, haunted, and alone this was enough to make Valjean stop in his tracks.

“I said leave me.” his voice was dangerously low.

Valjean was so startled that this time he took a step back, without even wanting it. “I´m sorry, Javert.” he brought out. “I didn´t mean to …”

“Good. See that it doesn´t happen again.” And with that he walked past him, out of the room. “We need to leave.” he repeated before the door was closed. “For this other apartment of yours. So get ready.”


	13. Facades

When the carriage entered the city through the big gates, it felt as if they got delivered to their judge, who would sentence them to death. Cosette had no idea how she knew that a man felt like this when he was on a death row. Maybe it was just her dark thoughts telling her that this was what it had to feel like. Maybe for real it wasn´t that bad. Maybe for real it was worse. She didn´t know. Couldn´t know. And if she´d had a choice she wouldn´t even let her thoughts go into that direction. Thinking about death like that, when Marius was sitting right next to her. 

But wouldn´t that be kind of classical romantic? If they went to death together, so briefly after they had found each other? The tragic love that could only exist in death? Like Romeo and Juliet? Only it wasn´t their families who drove them to this fate. It was soldiers. Murderers. Cruel and heartless police men like Javert. 

She closed her eyes, praying that her Papa was safe, wherever he was. That he would know Javert´s true colors before it was too late. That he would escape him, and come at last, to save her and Marius. Please, Papa. I need you. Please, where are you?

The carriage stopped, and Cosette felt the urgent hand of her love, grabbing her wrist.

“Cosette!” Marius breathed, shaking her hand. “Cosette, look.”

And she did. Through the window she could see the street, blocked by a crowd of people, and police men who obviously kept them in line, as if there was a new borderline here, that wasn´t allowed to be crossed. And for a moment Cosette had a strange feeling of Dejavu. As if she´d lived through this moment once already. 

“What happened here?” she asked, just as their capturer got up from his seat, to leave the carriage at last.

Moreau at last took down his gun, and hid it, underneath his coat. “You stay calm, and no one will get hurt.” he growled at them, reaching for the door.

Marius lay his arm around Cosette, protectively, but didn´t say a word. Together they watched him step out into the street, to see what was going on.

“Phillipe.” he called his driver. “What´s the matter? Why don´t we just drive around this?”

“Look behind.” was the answer and when Moreau did, Cosette and Marius craned their necks to peek out of the window. The street behind them was crowded just as much. No way for the carriage to turn. Moreau cursed. His gaze met Cosette´s for a moment, but obviously he dismissed his two hostages, in favor of looking about, for a better chance to get out of this mess. And that was the moment Cosette felt it.

It came right from Marius, as if their minds were combined in one. His hand grabbed hers a little tighter, and that was all it took. She knew, instantly, what he would do. And even though she still had this strange out of body feeling, as if she knew this situation, another part of her was ready to follow him, whatever would happen.

“Try to break out sideways.” Moreau ordered his driver. “They will skip back.”

He turned back to the door, hand reaching out to open it. And Marius moved. He kicked against the door, smashing it into Moreau´s face, and the man stumbled back, grunting surprised. Cosette didn´t think. She simply followed, as Marius jumped out, holding his shoulder against the pain. He took only a moment to bow down to Moreau, and for a moment Cosette had the strange idea of him trying to check if he was all right. Was he mad? But then she saw him reach under the man´s coat, retrieving his gun. When Moreau tried to grab him, he knocked the weapon into his face. 

Cosette glanced at the driver, crying in her mind, for Marius to hurry up. And then he took her hand, and they just ran. She could hear the driver, behind them, having spotted them at last.

“Hey!” he shouted and as they ran down the street, past all these people, Cosette suddenly felt that this was wrong. The whole setting of this moment was false. It was bright daylight but it should be night. They were surrounded by dozens of people, but the street should be abandoned. Nothing of this was right. And yet she had no idea why. And neither did she know why she expected someone to yell a strange meaningless row of numbers after her. But she knew one thing. The voice that once had shouted those numbers was evil. And if anyone would find them, and drag them back, to be punished for this attempted escape, it would be the owner of this voice.

But no one came. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When the two men left the house, it was in a hurry. Not that anyone would have noticed that. They walked in a normal pace and were dressed casually enough to pass as normal citizens. The old rags they had worn before were left behind, dropped where they had taken them off, in Valjean´s case along with some very bloody bandages. None of them had taken their time to pack the remains away, for none of them knew if they´d ever even return to this place. 

Now they wore fine clothing again. Nothing fancy but clean and proper. The two beggars had become two gentlemen again, if one overlooked the beards and hats, hiding most of their faces. 

“We can´t take the carriage, or the horses with us.” Javert had decided, very reasonably. “Both draw too much attention. We´ll take a cab to get to your place.”

And Valjean had agreed. The horses were free, to graze in the garden, so they would be all right. And other than that they couldn´t afford to care about the animals any more. Now it was about their own lives. The whole way through the city, Javert seemed to watch the street out of the window, almost paranoid. And his demeanor made Valjean nervous. Because if Javert was paranoid, didn´t he have any reason to be too?

A few streets from the address they let the cab drop them off, to walk the rest of the way. Just in case someone should find this cabman and ask him about the two men he drove to a certain address. And still Javert wouldn´t let his eyes rest, but wander around, all the time. As if he was looking for something.

“How far is it?” he asked at some point and Valjean gestured with his head.

“Just another corner.” 

Javert nodded, and urged him sideways, towards an alley. “Let´s take a shortcut.” he said and with that the two men vanished in the narrow way between two houses. 

A man, not much more than a passerby fastened his steps when he saw this, hurrying to not to lose them. As he peeked into the allay, he saw the shape of one of them, just passing the corner on the other end, and he had to speed up yet again. He mustn´t lose them. His mission depended on it. The orders had been clear. If he didn´t find out where they´d hide, he could have spared to follow them in the first place. For this was the only reason why he was here.

His steps echoed in the narrow allay, as he hurried to its end. He sped up once again. His targets would be too far ahead already. He dodged the corner, and saw Valjean´s face, too close, only a moment before he saw his hand. And then he only saw bright stars, exploding before his eyes. 

He stumbled back, the pain in his nose just reached his conscious mind, realizing what had happened. And then someone was in his back, an arm around his neck, choking him. His struggles were useless. The air was cut off, and the arm pressing against his throat uncompromising. Slowly but with no way to avoid it, his world faded into black.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“What have you done?” Valjean cried. “You killed him.”

“Don´t be ridiculous.” Javert breathed, dropping the unconscious man to the ground. “Come on now, help me. We need to bring him to your place before he wakes up.”

And in his total lack of any other option, Valjean obeyed, slinging the arm of the man around his shoulder, just like Javert did, and together they carried their unexpected hostage down the street, like two men simply helping their drunken friend to get home from the tavern.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was the least to say that Cosette was surprised to find two horses grazing in their garden, the carriage they had once been harnessed to, parked at the far wall just before the window of her room. The carriage Marius grandfather had left them. The carriage her Papa had no doubt taken to come back here, to Paris. 

Only he wasn´t there. The house was abandoned. Eerily silent. And then the shock when she entered the sitting room. It looked as if a fight had happened here. Clothes lay thrown around, carelessly, and old torn sheets, soaked with blood. Oh God.

“No.” she breathed. “Papa.” She hurried to this bunch of rags, as if it was her Papa himself, and stopped dead just before it, unable to decide what to do. “Oh dear God, what has he done to him?”

Marius, who had taken her shoulders, to calm her down, frowned at her, startled.

“He?”

But all Cosette saw was the blood. She barely heard Marius, barely even felt his gentle touch.

“I knew we couldn´t trust him.” she cried, tears stinging her eyes. “Oh God, if he did harm him in any way …”

And at last she accepted the comfort Marius´ presence offered, and threw herself into his embrace. An uncertain arm folded around her shoulders.

“Are you talking about the inspector?” he asked, as if he truly didn`t know.

She looked up at him, shocked. “How can you not …?” she stammered. “You see what I see.”

His eyes fell down, to the bloody rags, and his eyes were full of compassion. But still … he frowned.

“Why do you think the inspector did this?” he asked. “He was trying to help him.”

Cosette was struck, to the bone. Hearing those words, so blind and unknowing from the man she loved, was like a slap across the face. How could he not see? How?

“How can you be so blind? He always hated him. He …” But here she couldn´t finish. Something held her back. Years of teaching, to be quiet, never to talk about these things, not even to think about it. Oh her mind was raging, something deep inside her, something that had always tried to break through, to be seen, to hear and learn of a truth she´d never been allowed to know. Now the truth was staring her right into her face. From the ground at her feet. The blood. Oh God, the blood. And it was all his fault.

Marius only looked at her, so dumbfounded, unknowing.

“Cosette, what are you talking about?” 

But she couldn´t say. Mustn´t. He´d forbidden it. Never. Never was she to ask him. About the past. About him.

“I always knew he hid from me.” she spoke, not able to hold it back. “What once has been, before I could remember. But this man … Javert.” she shook her head, in deep anger. “He knew my father from a long time ago. I don´t know what happened between them, that he hated him so much. But my father always feared him. Always warned me from him.” She looked at Marius, and there was an expression of such pity in his eyes, she could barely stand it. It broke her heart. “This is why I don´t understand.” she felt the tears swell in her eyes again, her voice choked. “How he could give him his trust now.” The tears fell. “How, Marius? How could he do this?”

But Marius only shook his head. He had no answer, except: “Maybe he didn´t think he´d had any other choice. Maybe he was trying to protect you.”

And those words were like a dagger into her already broken heart.

“He´s the one that needed protection.” she choked. “And now it might be too late for that.” She shook her head, trying to fight back the tears that were already falling. “Oh God, if he has hurt him …”

When Marius pulled her into his arms, she didn´t fight. She just let him hold her, giving up at last, and just cried.

“Shhhh Cosette.” he gently stroke her hair, her back, her shaking shoulders. “We will find him. And warn him. Everything will be all right. I promise.”

But she knew he couldn´t promise this. Not even he could. Her Papa was alone out there, on his own against this devil in human form. Maybe he was already dead by now. How would she know? How?

And that was the moment, when someone broke the door, suddenly and like a berserker they stormed into the house. The house that had been her home for many years. And all Cosette could see was their uniforms. Uniforms like his. Police men. Like him.

“Freeze!” one of them yelled, and Marius pushed Cosette away, towards the back door.

“Cosette run!”

And with that he threw himself at the men, pushing the gun upwards, releasing the shot into the ceiling.

“No.” 

Cosette wanted to help him. To drag him with her, to safety. But the other men found her, and they would not wait for Marius to be done with the man he struggled with. They were coming. To get her. To throw her into the darkness. To bring her to him. 

And in this moment, all of Cosette´s conscious thoughts were wiped out, and she reacted on pure instinct. She bolted, for the door, her heart beating in her chest, into her throat. Her whole mind was swirling with fear. She heard a man shout after her, to stop or he would shoot. 

But she couldn´t stop. Not ever. Because he had come to get her. Oh God she could feel his hot breath in her neck. And her Papa. Oh God, her Papa. He wasn´t here. She was alone. And he had found her at last.

“Stop!” the man behind her roared again. The gate was just ahead of her, just across the garden. And then there was a shot. 

An agonizing scream echoed through the neighborhood.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The water that splashed into his face was cold and and cruel, forcing him out of his sleep violently. Gysbert didn´t like coldness at all, and especially when the skin on his face was warm from the sleep. His heart started pounding in his chest, and he gasped, in shock. What the …?

“Ah, there he is.” a deep voice spoke, and Gysbert faced the man that once had been a respected police officer. Now he looked like a criminal. A criminal that indeed, had him, Gysbert in his grasp. Figuratively. 

“Welcome back, Monsieur.” Javert spoke, putting away the cup he´d used to wake Gysbert so roughly. And that was the moment when Gysbert noticed that he couldn´t move his arms. Or legs for that matter. He was bound to a chair. God dammit. This shouldn´t have happened.

“So now …” Javert leaned forward. “You will answer some of my questions.”

Gysbert looked about, haunted, for a moment. The other man was there too, watching from the background.

“Whoever you think I am, I am not.” Gysbert told them both, but of course they didn´t believe him.

“I know you work for Lecomte, so don´t try to fool me.” Javert said. “Just answer my questions and this might be not as unpleasant for you as it could be.”

Gysbert glared at this man, not giving a response. Everything he could have said right now would have been wrong, and he knew it. Better not say anything. At all.

“What were Lecomte´s orders to you?” Javert demanded, and Gysbert kept glaring. “Did he order you to kill us or just to spy on us? And when does he expect you to report back to him?”

“I´m not working for Lecomte.” the words were out, before Gysbert could stop himself. But seriously, what a stupid question was that?

Of course Javert did not see it that way. “What is he up to?” he just kept asking. “Are there any more people he plans on killing?”

“You´re wrong.” Gysbert tore on his bonds. “Release me, or I swear to you, you will regret it.”

But all he got for this threat was a smile, as if the inspector laughed at him. You want to threaten me, his gaze seemed to ask, and Gysbert once again got reminded unpleasantly on the ropes holding him. Dammit why did he not see this coming? When they´d entered that alley he should have guessed something. He should have …

“Who else is involved in this?” Javert demanded. “I know he´s not the only one. Who else?” 

“I´m not allowed to tell you these things.”

At this Javert seriously laughed out. “Did you just hear that?” he asked his partner in crime, not even looking at him. “Well, that´s a bummer. You are not allowed to tell me this. Tell you what, man. I won´t allow you not to tell me.” And from out of nowhere he held a knife in his hand, pointing it at Gysbert´s chin.

“Javert.” the less violent man in the room exclaimed, alarmed, but got ignored.

“Who else is involved?” Javert demanded, eyes fixed on Gysbert´s.

And when Gysbert only glared at him, Javert moved, to punish his stubbornness. But it wasn´t the knife that came at him. Instead he got the fist of the man into his chest, and for a moment, that felt like eternity, Gysbert was in a total loss for air. As if his lungs had ceased function. He barely heard the second cry of: “Javert!”

“Stay out of this.” the ex police man ordered, his eyes never leaving Gysbert. And finally Gysbert managed it to take in another breath, his own gasp hurting his chest and throat. “I want an answer.” Javert demanded.

But Gysbert was not that easy to break. 

Javert shook his head, fuming. “You really seem to want this.” he growled, and Gysbert bit his lip, preparing for the next punch. Which came promptly. Javert´s anger seemed to increase with each fist he smacked into his face.

“I want an answer!” he shouted and that was the moment when he got dragged back.

“JAVERT!” 

But Javert only swirled around, pushing his partner back. “I told you to stay out of this.” he snarled.

“And I told you to stop.” was the fearless response. 

For a moment Gysbert was allowed to catch a break, as Javert´s attention was diverted. He laughed at the other man´s words.

“You don´t have anything to tell me.” he growled, eyes hard as stone. “This is a fair warning. Stay out of my way.”

But the other man shook his head. “I saw you do this once.” he said. “I will not stand by and let you do this a second time.”

Gysbert felt a wave of cold fear wash over him, when Javert´s only response was: “Then leave the room.” 

“No.” the other man did not waver.

“Then I hope you´re ready to watch.” Javert simply turned back to Gysbert, ready to pick up where he´d been interrupted. And Gysbert tensed. But before Javert could attempt to continue his interrogation, a hand grabbed his shoulder, from behind. Only it didn´t work. The inspector was too determined to torture his hostage, and his attack way too fast and too violent, for the other man to fend it. 

He fell, pushed back with the force of a predator that defended his prey, and landed in the corner, a very angry Javert looming over him. He still had the knife in his hand.

“I told you to stay out of this.” he growled, dangerously low, and his fingers were iron around the handle of the knife. “If you don´t want to get injured even more, stay out of my way.” 

Their gazes for each other were so full of hate and anger, that Gysbert seriously doubted to get out of this alive. If even they were ready to slash each other´s throats … Maybe this time he had burned the candle at both ends, when he´d accepted this task. Following two men who had nothing to lose. What did he expect to find? 

Eventually Javert dismissed his unreliable partner and turned back to Gysbert, the rage now pure in his eyes.

“And now I want an answer.” he rasped, still clutching the knife. “How do I find Lecomte? TELL ME!”

But Gysbert couldn´t. Mustn´t. He had his orders, never to tell. And there was too much at stake for him to forget this order. Even if it meant that he had to bleed for this. Literally. So when Javert´s eyes flashed with rage, ready to kill, all Gysbert could do was keep up the stubborn facade, and shake his head.  
Javert nodded, his gaze burning like that of a mad man.

“I´ll make you talk.” he promised and finally he raised the knife.

Gysbert clutched the armrests he was bound to, tensing, expecting the pain, that would come any second. But then his eyes caught something behind Javert. An unexpected movement, that seemed to come from out of nowhere. 

He´d almost forgotten Valjean, even though it had been only a minute since Javert had pushed him down. And now that he was back, swinging this club at the mad man with the knife, Gysbert counted all his lucky stars for the man´s gentle heart. A heart that even made him turn against his own partner, to save the skin of a possible enemy.

The strike hit Javert unprepared, and the club was too heavy to miss its purpose. Javert went to his knees, grunting, but still far from being knocked out. He´d lost the knife, and instantly reached for it. A mistake. Had he left it where it was he might have seen the foot that was aimed at his face. He might have been able to dodge this kick. But he didn´t. 

One kick was enough, and the former inspector Javert lay on the ground, unconscious. Gysbert´s sensitive skin was safe, at least for the time being.

Valjean was panting, the club still in his hands, as he looked down on the other man. As if he expected Javert to jump up and attack again, even now. But he didn´t. He´d knocked him out just fine, Gysbert could tell. And as if Valjean had heard that, his eyes darted to him, glaring not much friendlier than Javert had been glaring at him.

Gysbert didn´t dare to speak. Not just yet. He didn´t know what the other man would do. He might have saved his life for now, but he was still dangerous. He was still a fugitive on the run, and Gysbert was a threat, that could lead to discovery. Something no man on the run would ever ignore if he was smart. And Valjean was smart. And he was dangerous. The gaze that currently lay on Gysbert was that of a cornered animal.

Eventually the club fell to the ground, almost careless, as if the man that had used it to smack his partner over the head only a minute ago, did not want to have anything to do with it anymore. He groaned, holding his injured shoulder, but that was all Gysbert heard of his voice. He didn´t address him, didn´t speak a word. He only walked past him, to the window, and leaned against the frame, looking out, as if lost in thought. As if he wasn´t sure what to do, now that Javert was out. Was he serious?

“He won´t be out forever.” Gysbert cried. “You need to release me.”

But all he got was a dry laughter. “I shall release you?” his savior asked. “So you can finish your mission and kill us both?”

“My orders were not to kill you.”

Gysbert took a moment to consider if it was a violation of his order to reveal that. But what else could he do? He´d gotten a chance. And if he didn´t take advantage of this now, winning this man´s trust, he´d be an idiot.

“Then what were your orders?” was the reluctant response, and from here Gysbert really didn´t have much of a choice anymore.

“I was just to find out where you´d go and hide.” he told the man, hoping that this would be enough. “We need to keep an eye on you.”

And the other man seemed to understand. “You told the truth, didn´t you?” he stepped forward. “You really don´t work for Lecomte?”

Gysbert sighed, but shook his head, affirmative.

“Who do you work for?”

“I can´t tell.”

And once again he got rewarded with a laugh.

“I´m afraid you´ll have to.” Valjean said. “Or I won´t be able to help you a second time when he wakes up.”

“He will be as mad at you when he wakes up.”

“Sure. But that´s something I can handle. He won´t hurt me. He needs me and he knows that. You on the other hand … you didn´t give me any reason to trust you.”

“I´m not your enemy.”

“Prove it to me.”

“I know you were a convict just like me.” Gysbert immediately took the challenge, not able to help himself. “Valjean.”

The name caused a reaction of shock, and Gysbert would have lied if he´d claimed he didn´t enjoy this. It was the part of him that couldn´t help but seek out the situations that would most likely get him killed. Giving a wanted man like Valjean a reason to kill him, was only one example for this. And Gysbert knew this. He knew and he still couldn´t help it.

Valjean´s gaze hardened, as he stepped towards him. “How do you know my name?” he demanded.

“I know even more about you.” Gysbert informed him, giving up the facade at last. It was no use anyway. Not after what just happened. “The man I work for knows you.” he told Valjean.

“Who knows me?”

This question at last, as urgent as it had been spoken, made Gysbert halt again. Made him think again, and reconsider. This was not only about him. If he revealed the name, he´d endanger his commander too. And all the others. Did he have the right to even consider that?

On the floor Javert started to groan, stirring again, waking up. Valjean looked down on him, but he didn´t do anything. He really didn´t seem to have any intention on stopping Javert again, when he woke up. 

His gaze was clear when he looked at Gysbert again. Last chance, it said. I won´t help you a second time.

And somehow Gysbert knew that this was true.

“He was in prison with you.” he told Valjean. “Only for a few months but still. I doubt that you´ll remember him. But he remembers you.”

Again Valjean stepped closer, looking down on him, demanding. “Who?”

Gysbert sighed, praying that he did the right thing. He said: “His name´s Vidocq.”

And at this name, Valjean suddenly halted, frowning. The name rang a bell, Gysbert could tell. Only he didn´t know which one. His frown was that of a man, that wasn´t entirely sure, where he´d heard the name before. And in his failure to remember, the ex prisoner turned around, to look at the man that once had been his warden. 

It was not before this moment, that Gysbert noticed that Javert was already wide awake by now. He knelt on the floor, not groggy as one would expect it from a man that just came back around after being knocked out. Not a bit disoriented. Instead his eyes were clear, and just as startled as Valjean´s. He stared at Gysbert, as if to ask: Is this supposed to be a joke?


	14. Playing the Game

Marius´ mind was numb. The carriage was rolling through the streets, the sounds of the horses hooves so loud, it was hurting his brain. But he barely took notice of it. All he felt was the shock, still so deep in his bones. 

He could still see Cosette, running out of the door, the police man aiming his gun at her, and for a moment he´d seen Eponine again, covered in blood, after she´d taken the shot that had been meant for him. Just before the gate Cosette had stumbled, and for a heartbeat Marius had believed his life must end. If Cosette would die, while he was there, forced to watch, like he´d been forced to watch Ponine fade away, he would gladly take the next bullet from them. 

And then the shot. And this scream. Oh God, his mind had screamed too. Louder than his voice. And oh dear Lord, when he´d seen the blood, he´d almost lost his mind. 

Cosette had been on the ground, cowering just at the gate. A gate that had been locked, to keep the horses inside. Horses that were now in total headless panic. One of them racing through the garden, the other on the ground, rolling in the dirt, and its own blood. It was still screaming, in agony, its friend galloping round and round, helplessly. And Cosette. She was huddled into herself, at the gate, hands over her ears, against those cruel sounds of the dying horse.

Marius had seen the pain in her face, had seen that she was alive, and forgotten were the guns of those men, the danger that they could shoot him as well. Like they had almost shot Cosette. Like they had shot this poor animal.

He´d run to her, had fallen to his knees, taking her into his arms. She´d wept, against his shoulder, and in this moment, he didn´t care how much it hurt. He just couldn´t let go of her.

Behind him, the men were talking, things he didn´t care about. One of them ordered another to put the animal out of its misery, and eventually there was a second shot. Again a horse screamed, but this time it was the other one. As if the animal knew that its friend would be no more after this.

Everything after that was pure and utter silence. A silence that seemed to have crept into his heart, his mind, his entire soul. This was why he didn´t hear the hooves. This was why he didn´t care, where they would bring them. Cosette was alive. She was breathing, in his arms. And that was all that mattered, for now. Everything else would have to come. As long as he could hold her, knowing that she was still with him, Marius would let it be. Whatever they would do to them. They would be together in the end. Neither of them would die alone. He swore this, by his heart, for her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gysbert knew something was wrong. That something about the events he´d witnessed was off. But when he saw Javert awake, his eyes on him, his first reaction was tension, expecting the man to pay back what he´d gotten from Valjean earlier, and most likely let out his anger on him, Gysbert.

But Javert did nothing. He only stared at him, frowning, as if he was not even sure who he was. Did he lose his memory, after that knock on the head? Could that be? Gysbert knew this hope was ridiculous. But still. Maybe.

“Vidocq.” Valjean repeated, as if asking Javert where he had heard the name before.

And Javert answered his gaze, briefly, before turning his attention back to Gysbert. Finally he rose again, eyes never leaving Gysbert´s.

“What does he have to do with this?” he demanded to know.

Gysbert glanced at Valjean for a second, as Javert loomed over him again, but Valjean did not even attempt to stop him. “Did he return to his old habits after all?” Javert asked. “Committing crimes? Has he sunken that far to kill for money?”

And at this, at last, Valjean stepped forward. But the only thing he did to stop Javert, was laying a hand on the other man´s arm, way too light to have any kind of effect. His gaze was not even focused on Javert. How the hell did he intent to stop him with this?

But Javert did stop, instantly.

“You said you´re not my enemy.” Valjean recalled, what Gysbert had told him earlier. “What does this Vidocq want then?” 

The hostage looked from one of them to the other, and back again. Neither Javert nor Valjean seemed to be wary of the other man´s presence. All their attention was on him. Something that no man would do, after a fight like the one before. Except …

Gysbert laughed, when he finally understood.

“I must say, Valjean … that was one hell of an act.” He watched them exchange a brief glance, and nodded, amused about his own blindness. “You´d be a good agent.” he found. “You know how this game works.”

“Answer the question.” Javert demanded, his tone so much calmer now that before. God, how did he not see this, Gsybert wondered. He was in this business for so long now. 

“They might have dismissed him from the force back then, because of his past, but Vidocq was never dismissed from his believes.” he told them. “As less as you are, inspector. There are things going on that are bigger than official positions. And there are some men in this world who are determined to do the right thing, no matter what the risk.”

Javert narrowed his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

But Valjean once again, made him stop with a simple motion of his hand. “Wait.” he said. “Wait. I do remember now. I read about this man. In the papers. He … He was commanding a force of the police …”

“The Sureté.” Javert told him the name, disparagingly. “A bunch of former criminals, made agents.” The former inspector snorted. “As if.”

Gysbert felt a stitch of hurt pride in his chest. “You may think of us what you want.” he glared at the man standing before him. “But we kept up the fight, even after they fired us.”

“Why?”

“Because it is the right thing to do. Because we know the meaning of the words duty and honor too.”

He stared at this man, that thought of himself to be so much better, and for a moment he didn´t even realize how, Javert´s expression had changed, to something less arrogant. The former inspector suddenly seemed taken aback, and in this, he searched the gaze of Jean Valjean. For help? Gysbert didn´t know. But Valjean was right there. He didn´t say anything, but neither did Javert. It didn´t seem as if there was anything to say. Nothing that their gazes hadn´t already said.

“Where is he now?” Valjean asked at last, turning back to Gysbert. “Vidocq?”

But that was a question Gysbert couldn´t answer just like that.

“How much does he know of what is going on?” Valjean kept asking, and Gysbert glared.

“We know everything.” he rasped. “You have no idea what you´ve gotten yourself into.”

“Tell us.” the ex convict demanded.

“I … I´m not allowed to.” Gysbert met the disbelieving gaze of Javert and instantly tensed again. “It´s true.” he insisted. “I just can´t … tell you everything. I don´t even know all the details. I´m not the best at remembering such details.”

Once again Javert laughed, in this condescending way of his. “That´s a spy for you.”

“I´m not a spy.” Gysbert growled. “I´m a footman. An observer. And I´m really good at that.”

“Not all that good I´d presume.” Valjean mentioned, and Gsybert looked at him, pouting. All right, he hadn´t seen this coming. But seriously … was that necessary?

“If you want to know about the whole thing.” he came back to the point. “You can´t ask me.”

“Who do we have to ask, then?” Javert demanded, once again leaving Gysbert no choice, but to go even one more step further. Over the edge at last.

“You have to talk to Vidocq.” he sighed. There. He said it. “He can tell you.”

“No.” Valjean instantly said, to Javert. “That´s a trick.”

But Javert was confident. “How could it be?” he asked. “They don´t know that we´re coming.” 

His gaze met Gysbert again, and when he took the knife this time, he used it to cut his ropes.

“All right.” he spoke, dragging him up. “Lead us to your boss. But remember. If that should be a trap … you´ll be the first one to fall.”

Gysbert looked at Valjean, but this time he didn´t find any help there. Only a face that seemed to say: You heard him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was an old castle, they brought them to. Like in the fairytales her Papa had used to read to her. Cosette almost expected a robed man, all in black, to appear in the door, looking down on them with cold eyes. The magician that captured the maiden, to force her to marry him. 

Only she was not the reason why they were here. She was only a burden, on Marius´ side. He was the one they wanted. And the reason for that got revealed to them, when they led them into a cell, down in the dungeon. 

There he was. The baron. Marius´ grandfather. Bound to a chair that looked more like a torture instrument than a piece of furniture. Cosette could see blood on the old man´s head, under his nose, in his beard. And bruises. Bruises everywhere. 

“Grandfather!” Marius cried, his hands around Cosette tensing, and she knew that if it hadn´t been for her, he would have run to his grandfather right away. But so he didn´t. He stayed with her, to protect her from these men, while for real it was obvious that it wasn´t her who needed protection.

“What have you done to him?” she asked, and her voice was so broken, it almost sounded like a sob. No, she couldn´t cry. Not here.

“I swear to you.” Marius was fuming. “You will pay for this.”

The officer that had greeted them in this place, only looked at them, with those cold eyes of his, his totally uptight posture never changing.

“Bind them.” he ordered, his voice as impersonal as if he´d ordered to fix a wheel on a cab. 

Marius was fighting, when they dragged him away from Cosette, but in the end he had no chance against them. Cosette didn´t struggle. Not really. Her arms were weak, against those men, and the ropes they bound her with, were hard, and tight.

The eyes of the old man were weak, only half awake, but Cosette could see the fear in them. Not fear for his own life, but for them. For Marius. The baron looked at their abductor, pleadingly, but this man in the black uniform only looked down on him, with a gaze of stone.

“Now?” he asked. “Will you be a little more cooperating now?”

“Please.” the baron begged. “Don´t … Don´t hurt them.”

“I won´t.” the other man promised. “If you don´t make me.”

“Whatever you do to us, you will not get away with this.” Marius shouted, fighting against his ropes.

The officer before them only rolled his eyes, not even looking at him. “Silence him.” he ordered, as bored as he had ordered to bind them, and for a moment there was pure panic in the baron´s face. Until the man that stepped up behind Marius had finished gagging him. Whatever worse treatment the baron might have expected, now he relaxed again.

Marius was fuming, muffling cries of anger sounding from behind the gag in his mouth, and Cosette begged him in silence to be reasonable. To not give them any reason to hurt him.

“Please.” the baron said again. “They´re only children.”

“It is in your hands.” the cruel man told him. “You know what we want from you.”

And at this the baron seemed to remember some of his own anger. He tore on his ropes, only for a moment. “God dammit, Bourguignon.”

“God won´t help you.” was the unimpressed response, and Bourguignon straightened. “No one will.”

He waved a hand, and one of his men opened the door, as if he´d only waited for this signal. Two men carried a frame inside, a man lying on it, obviously wounded. And for a moment Cosette expected to see the face of her father, under this bloody forehead. But the pale face was not her father´s. 

“Henry!” the baron exclaimed, his voice barely a whisper, and the way he sank into himself at the sight, Cosette knew that the man on the stretcher was not wounded, not sleeping. He was dead. Oh God.

“You … bastards.” the baron hissed through gritted teeth.

“I´m showing this to you, so you will understand the graveness of your situation.” Bourguignon said, glancing at them all for a moment, before turning his full attention back to the baron. “This man has been my friend. And I regret his death.”

“You son of a bitch.” the baron cried. “You killed him. You.”

“I did.” Bourguignon admitted without any shame in his voice. “Because it was necessary. I ordered the death of my friend. And I will order your deaths. If it should be necessary. But I´m willing to give you a chance.” He looked the baron straight in the eyes, and the old man paled even more. “I hope you understand now.” Bourguignon said. “I will give you some time to think about this. One last time. But when I come to see you again, I want an answer. And it better be the right answer.”

With that he waved for his men again, and the stretcher got carried out. Their ropes were loosened again, with cold efficiency and when the guards led them away, Cosette barely felt Marius´ arms around her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Javert took his knife, as soon as Gysbert pointed out the house in question. Whoever might open, would probably not be happy to see them, and if they should be armed, he would have the element of surprise. Gysbert only noticed the weapon when he´d already knocked, and paled instantly.

“No.” he cried. “Don´t.”

Javert did not intent to be yielded by this criminal´s pleading though. He skillfully ignored him, preparing for whatever fight he might have to face. The door was opened, and he stared into the face of a woman. Mid forty, admittedly nice with long dark blonde hair and strong blue eyes. Javert quickly lowered his knife, hiding it under his coat. What the hell?

“Gysbert.” she cried, looking at Javert and Valjean with deep worry. She hadn´t seen the knife. “What´s the matter?” she asked alarmed, stepping aside, urging them to: “Come in. What happened? Who are your friends?”

“They´re not friends.” Gysbert blurred, not even trying to pretend, and Javert had to restrain himself from using his knife after all. Could a man be even more obnoxious in his idiocy? And then, from one moment to the other there was the sound of a gun getting cocked. Javert turned, and faced the muzzle of a pistol, aiming at them, from the other end of the room.

The man holding it was small, thickset, and wouldn´t have looked dangerous at all, had Javert seen him in the street among other people. The woman instantly skipped back, out of the line of fire, in case the wielder of this gun should decide to use it. And all Javert´s attention was on this ridiculously small man, that seemingly had their lives in his hand. Tiny brown eyes smirked at them, from beneath a curtain of uncombed dark curls, as if amused about this unexpected visitors to his strangely noble home.

“I see you took your mission a little too much to heart, Gys.” he spoke. “I said keep an eye on them. Not keep them around your eyes at all times.”

Javert threw a side glance at his hostage, and Gysbert looked embarrassed about the remark. “They caught me.” he told and his boss nodded.

“I figured.” 

“They asked questions I couldn´t answer.” Gysbert went into defensive mode. “They tortured me.”

Javert rolled his eyes at the whining tone. “Man up. I barely touched you.”

The man ignored him, more or less successful. “I had no choice but to bring them here.” he told his boss. And even though he hadn´t introduced himself to them, formally, Javert just knew that this was him. The famous Vidocq himself. What a joke. He looked like a book keeper. Not a spy. Except for the gun he aimed at them. And this slight glimmer of intelligence and experience, when he regarded them, estimating the situation. 

“Let him go, inspector.” he demanded, but of course Javert could not simply comply.

He finally took the knife, and grabbed Gysbert, too sudden for the hostage to avoid it. When the blade touched his throat, the man tensed, but so did Vidocq. 

“Lower the gun.” Javert demanded of his own. And that was the moment when they heard the second click, coming from behind them this time. 

Valjean gasped, startled, at the sight of the woman, aiming a gun at Javert. And Javert had to agree. He´d seen men do such things, but never a woman. Her gaze was so cold and uncompromising, that he indeed hesitated in his action. He could bring the hostage between her and him, but then he would give Vidocq the chance to shoot him. On the other hand, if he …

And this was the moment, when the woman changed her mind, turning the situation once again. Instead of aiming at Javert, she moved her arm, and aimed at Valjean instead. There was no change whatsoever in her face, as she did this. But Valjean … he flinched, paling like a fish. And once again Javert could only agree.

He met his eyes for a moment, each of them asking the other: was this really happening?

“Now we both have a hostage.” Vidocq remarked. “What a dilemma.” he cocked a brow, as if none of this was reason to get agitated. Only one more day in the house of a criminal. 

Javert glanced at Valjean, only for a second. “You really think his life means anything to me?” he asked Vidocq, keeping up the pressure on Gysbert´s throat and he could feel Valjean´s face change to an expression of: Really? You play dare now?

Javert knew that this was written all over the old con´s face, and he didn´t even have to look at him. His eyes were on Vidocq. But what he saw there was not much encouraging either. 

“To be honest, I did.” the criminal-made-police-spy answered his daring question. “Wouldn´t it be better to leave the threats out of it and just have a civilized talk?” he suggested.

But all Javert was ready to give him, was a glare. “The only civilized talks I had with people lately was when I had them strapped to a chair. I won´t trust you farther than I can throw you.”

“Fair enough.” Vidocq shrugged, and finally lowered his gun. “I guess Gys wouldn´t have brought you here if he´d been convinced that you´d be a real threat to us.”

Javert relaxed, instinctively at the sight of the lowered gun. Still he couldn´t help but feel insulted, just a slight bit, at the word “real”. His eyes met Valjean´s again, still tensed, aware of the second gun that still aimed at his head. 

“Honestly.” Vidocq told him. “I don´t want to harm any of you. It would be nice if this feeling would be mutual.”

Dear God. Javert felt like groaning from the mental torture alone. Had this guy always been so sententious? Or had he started with that, after he´d changed sides? 

Eventually he lowered his knife, and Gysbert wriggled himself out of his grip. Javert didn´t try to hold him back. After his hostage was free and safe enough from him, the woman lowered her gun. And Valjean finally exhaled the breath he´d been holding. Javert did his best to answer his rebuking gaze with a stoic one of his own.

“Well.” Vidocq spoke, shrugging. “That´s much better, isn´t it? Maybe we all should sit down and have some tea. It could help us all to calm down. Would you be so kind, Fleuride?”

The woman didn´t respond. Her gaze was still hard, as she regarded Javert and Valjean. As if she was trying to decide if she didn´t want to rather shoot them anyway. But then she nodded, reluctantly, and left for the kitchen.

“Don´t take it personal.” Vidocq told them, in a light tone. “She´s a sweetheart when you know her.”

Javert stared at the man, refusing to be drawn into this smalltalk. “Vidocq.” he growled the name with all the distrust and repulsion he could muster. “I always knew that letting a criminal do police work was a bad idea.”

“Is that so different from what you are doing?” Vidocq gestured at Valjean. “Nice to meet you again, by the way.” he greeted the man.

Valjean frowned, still visibly trying to remember him. And Vidocq smiled. “I know.” he said. “It´s been a long time. And we both changed since then. We never spoke, so don´t beat up your brain for not recalling me.”

Javert watched Valjean´s reaction closely. The ex convict was still not certain of anything.

“You recall me.” he replied to Vidocq´s words, making the small man chuckle.

“It was hard not to notice you. A man as strong and … hard as you were.” he shook his head. “I´d barely seen anyone with such a hollow and yet so burning gaze.” he recalled, and something inside Javert remembered too. Remembered the man he´d known all those years ago. A man he´d considered scum and nothing more. An animal in human form. Something that could never have a future. 

“Good to know that you made it out of that hole.” Vidocq spoke, to Valjean.

And somehow, Javert didn´t know how, he knew that Vidocq was not talking about the prison in Toulon. Judging by Valjean´s gaze, he knew that too.

“So did you.” he answered to Vidocq´s words.

And this time Javert´s reaction was totally unintended. Still it came. He snorted, almost amused in his aversion.

“By running.” he remarked, and threw a glance at Valjean. “He was better at that than you.”

Vidocq only laughed. “I had practice.” he said, as if he had to make Valjean feel better about his failure back then. “And I had help. But you didn´t come here to exchange stories of the old days, did you?”

“I want to know why people are trying to kill me.” Javert gladly came back to the point. “And I want to know where Lecomte is. And who else is with him on this.”

“A lot of questions.” Vidocq nodded. “Just like it is expected of an inspector.” He gave Javert a smile, motioning to a door, invitingly. “Let´s sit down.”

“I´m not going anywhere with you.”

“So you´d rather have the tea standing?”

“Javert.” Valjean´s voice startled him for a moment, but the tone was so gentle that Javert could not fight this strange effect it had on him. This gaze was just too fatherly, in the way it seemed to say: Let´s be reasonable, all right? Just for now. Before we shoot our way through to the answers that we want.

And goddammit, Javert hated the fact that he was right. They´d come here to talk, to ask their questions So why not go straight ahead and do just that?


	15. It never Stops, never Ends

 

Reluctantly Javert followed Valjean and their unexpected host Vidocq, to the man´s kitchen.

The wife, Fleuride, was just in the process of placing the cups on the table, taking the kettle off the stove. Vidocq gladly sat down, as if they all had gathered here for nothing more than a nice little cup of tea, among old acquaintances. He even seemed to enjoy himself. 

Had Javert been on his own, he might have preferred to stand, just to show how less comfortable this meeting really was. But Valjean had already taken a seat, and even the footman was sitting down, so it would be ridiculous to remain standing as the only person in the room. Not even Javert was that stubborn.

Fleuride began pouring the tea, to each of them, and Vidocq took his cup, as if he expected them all to do the same. Of course his lapdog obeyed instantly. Javert didn´t even  
look at his cup.

“All right.” he spoke, glaring at their host. “We´re sitting. Start talking.”

The woman threw him a sharp glance, setting down the kettle harsh enough to make the cups rattle.

“You could be a little more polite, inspector.” she told him. “I made the tea, so you can have it. It´s not poisoned as you see.” 

As if to prove her point, she took her own cup, poured from the same kettle as theirs, and sipped from it.

Javert was still not considering to have any tea at all. Valjean on the other hand, seemed intimated by the woman´s demand. He ruefully reached for his cup. And Javert stopped him.

“No.” he ordered, watching the woman and her husband. “They could have prepared the cups.”

A wide smile spread on Vidocq´s lips, as he laughed heartily at this.

“Oh, you really are wary inspector, aren´t you?” he chuckled. “How could you ever make friends with anyone?”

Javert only scowled at him. “I don´t make friends.”

Beside Vidocq, Gysbert laughed dryly. “What a surprise.”

The footman skillfully avoided Javert´s glare, but the former inspector caught a glimpse of Valjean, beside him, and he believed to see a suppressed smirk there. When he looked at him directly, Valjean cleared his throat, quickly, turning his attention back to Vidocq.

“I´ve read about you.” he said. “You were dismissed from the force and opened a factory.”

Once again Javert could not help the laugh that came up in him. Oh dear, that really was good.

“Is that something you jailbirds like to do when you get out?” he asked.

“And we´re very good at it.” Vidocq was smiling very self satisfied, probably for having managed it at last to draw Javert into the chat. “So there you see, inspector. Men like us can do something for the people. We provide supplies … and work.”

“Mainly for spies.” Javert replied, dryly. “And barely capable footmen.”

“Hey.” Gysbert cried out, glaring insulted, but Vidocq only chuckled.

“Not all that wrong.” he admitted, instantly raising a hand at Gysbert. “I meant the first thing.” When he turned back to Javert he was serious again. “Don´t think they didn´t want me out of the force for a reason.”

“Because you were criminals.”

“Because we asked the wrong questions. My men were not as intimidated by high ranking uniforms as most of the police or the military were.” The round face of the small man became even more serious. “We came across some evidence that something was going on.” he told them, a shadow passing his gaze. “Something that was even less conform with the law and moral than we were. Something that would ultimately cost a lot of lives. When we started to investigate, we got shut down.” For a moment, their host seemed to indulge in this memory, his gaze dark as if briefly reliving an old grudge against someone. “I went away from Paris.” he went on. “And opened this factory. Not to earn money. The paper was just the cover. But I needed to have a base, from where I could keep up my investigations. My men were loyal. Together we discovered the truth. Much more than I would have expected.” At this the freelancing spy shook his head. “You can believe me, I had expected much, but not that.”

“What was it?”

It was Gysbert who asked, from the side: “Don´t you already know that?” When Vidocq looked at him asking, he told him: “They found a letter in Bourguignon´s office.” And he threw a glance at Javert that could have been hurt pride. “I told you I was good.”

Javert almost laughed out again. But Vidocq´s gaze caught his attention. The man was nodding, impressed.

“You found out a lot.” he praised. “Considering your limited resources and the fact that you´re on the run from the law, that is quite impressive. You even found me.”

“Skip the flattery.” Javert could not have that. “So you really want to tell me that all this only happened because some people were greedy?”

“Do you even understand what greed is, inspector?” Vidocq asked. “What some people would do for money?”

“I´ve been a police inspector for over thirty years. Of course I know.”

“Do you also know,” the other man went on. “Why these people would never call themselves thieves or criminals? Why they are convinced that what they do is nothing wrong at all?”

Javert gave a snort at this idea, but something about these words made him uncomfortable. He didn´t know an answer to this question. None at all. How could they not see that they were criminals? Was Vidocq serious? Or was he trying to mock him?

Valjean seemed to understand. “One of these men called himself a patriot.” he remembered, and Vidocq nodded. Like a school teacher would nod at a very attentive student. It was repulsive to watch.

“I guess that´s how they justify it to themselves.” Vidocq spoke, patronizingly sharing his insight. “You see, these men you´re talking about. They´re not criminals. They´re bankers, businessmen, politicians. They trade and do business with each other. Sure they earn money, but I heard their explanations. The ones they brought up before the parliament. For them every act that betters the conditions of trade is noble and right, for it would serve the country and its people. Whatever makes the country rich makes the country better for everyone.” He must have seen the disgust in Javert´s gaze, the lack of understanding in Valjean´s, and he nodded. “That´s how they said it. I´ve heard it, I was there.”

“At a gathering of the parliament?”

“I was giving out water to the attendants.” The spy smirked.

Javert shook his head, stubbornly. Nothing in this reasoning made any sense to him. “It would make them rich and nothing else. These phrases are nothing but false justifications.”

“Indeed they are.” Vidocq agreed. “But with them they can convince many people, to let them do whatever is necessary to ensure the trades will not be disturbed. Not even by riots of passionate students.”

Valjean´s hand grasped Javert´s arm, seizing it in sudden understanding, irritating the heck out of him. The man wasn´t even looking at him.

“Those riots …” he breathed, and Vidocq nodded.

“They disturbed the trades a great deal. You can imagine that many of these businessmen were less than pleased. Especially when the estimations of the government told them that these rioting kids could be around for the next ten to twenty years, if no one found a way to put an end to it.”

Oh God. The arm Valjean had grasped felt cold all the sudden, just like the rest of Javert.

“And by putting an end to it …” Valjean gulped, uncomfortable. “They didn´t mean to make peace with them.”

“The government didn´t care what the solution would be.” Vidocq let him know. “They´ve tried for years to negotiate but neither side was ready to listen.”

“So they decided to get rid of them?”

Javert sat between all this, and found himself unable to say only a single word. Valjean´s hand had released his arm by now, to lay flat on the table, lost, like a soldier left behind to die on his own.

“Not the government.” Vidocq corrected. “I want to make this clear. Some might be involved in this whole affair. And some high ranking politicians at that. I don´t want to defend anyone here. But don´t believe it was the government who did this.”

“Then who did?” Valjean asked. “Who was the mastermind behind it?”

“There´s not one mastermind. There are too many of them to tell who started it. But we have the names of a few that are very important.”

“What names?” Javert found his voice again, at last. “Tell me.”

“Don´t worry.” Vidocq avoided an answer. “We have a list.”

“Tell me their names.” Javert demanded, again, not getting a response. “Lecomte is one of them, isn´t he?”

Vidocq looked at him, reluctantly, but eventually he nodded. “He´s one of the more important ones yes. We tried to take him out. But you stopped us. Killed one of my agents and two of his men.” 

Javert´s mouth dropped open, and beside him Valjean exclaimed.

“That was you!”

For a moment the well known feeling of rage came back to Javert. “Did you also kill Gareaux?” he demanded to know, but here Vidocq shook his head.

“Lecomte ordered Gareaux´s death.” he said, and upon seeing Javert´s reaction, he added: “You´re not the only one he fooled, inspector.” The unofficial spy sighed sympathetically. “It all began with Marianne Poche really. When she came to your friend Gareaux with what she had discovered … she couldn´t have guessed what she would set in motion. He died because he tried to help. And you … you almost died, because he trusted you. He planned to ask you for your help. Only he never got the chance anymore.”

Javert knew nothing more to say. He felt the heavy weight from all of this, crush down on him, and nothing helped, not even the comforting words, when Vidocq told him, reassuringly: “It wasn´t your fault, inspector.”

He answered him with seething silence.

“We … have a picture of another man …” Valjean took it upon himself to go on with the questioning. “A man that was affiliated with Lecomte … Is … Still …” he shook his head. “Maybe you know who he is.” 

He looked at Javert, trying to catch his eyes, to call him back from whatever dark corner he´d gone to, and at last Javert did. He understood the silent prompt, and reached for his pocket.

Vidocq instantly nodded, almost the moment his eyes fell on the drawing. “That´s Talbert.” he told them. “Julien Talbert. He´s the secretary of the mayor. We suspect him to have written a lot of orders in the mayor´s name.”

“Does the mayor know about that?”

“I don´t think so. He´s handed most of his business to his faithful secretary. He trusts the man. In fact … we believe that the mayor is the one who is supposed to get eliminated next. Not by assassins for a change. Politically. Talbert´s actions will compromise him, so badly he will have no choice but to step back. Maybe even in favor of Talbert himself.”

Javert crumbled the paper between his fingers again, sighing deeply, frustrated.

Valjean asked: “What are you planning to do about this? You said you tried to … take out Lecomte. How is murdering him going to solve anything? Or to undo the deeds that he committed.”

Javert wanted to roll his eyes, at the endless repetition of this song. But he was lacking the strength. Instead he simply closed his eyes, massaging his forehead, and wished for this day to end. 

“We didn´t plan on killing him.” Vidocq told them. “Our plan was to capture him and make him surrender the evidence and a confession. Killing him would have been the last way, if he wouldn´t have given us another choice. Only we didn´t even get that chance.”

“Where is he now?” Javert wanted to know. “You know it, don´t you?”

“In his residence.” Vidocq nodded. “Le Château d´Asnières.” 

“He never left Paris.” Valjean spoke it out, aghast, and Javert groaned.

“Of course not. He knew he was in no danger. Not after I saved him.”

“And now he resides in a highly secured mansion.” Vidocq agreed. “Heavily guarded by security.”

Javert glanced up at the small man, daggers in his eyes. “Not heavily enough.”

When he got up, Valjean jumped out of his seat too. “What are you doing?”

“What do you think? I´ll pay him a visit.”

“I´d advise you against that, inspector.” Vidocq rose from his seat as well.

“Why?”

“Because we already plan on a visit ourselves.” 

“When?”

“Tonight. Don´t worry, he´ll be taken care of.”

Javert looked at this man, that was a criminal at heart, but still a man like he´d been once. A man of the law, who was able and ready to do what was necessary to ensure justice would be done. And for a moment he seriously considered to let it be. To let them handle this. They were on their way on doing so already. Maybe, he thought, interfering now would be the worst he could do.

And then Valjean spoke up again.

“What does that mean?” he asked Vidocq. “What do you intent to do there?”

“We know he has the evidence that we need in his safe.” the police spy told them. “He´s also hosting two men in his guest rooms this week, both of them involved with the case. Those are the items we are after.”

“You call two men items?”

“We will collect the evidence and press confessions from the men. We have our ways. As soon as we have that, we will present these evidence to the court.” he glanced at Javert again. “They will pay for what they did.”

Javert nodded, but his earlier consideration was gone out of the window.

“I´ll be with you when you go in.” he decided.

“I´m afraid that´s not a good idea.” Vidocq objected calmly. But Javert was boiling.

“I want Lecomte.”

“You want him to pay for the death of your friend, I know. And for the death of this woman Marianne, which I can understand only too well. But inspector …”

“I want to see that justice is done.” Javert talked over him, determined to get his will. “You´re short on three men because of me. Let me make up for this.”

He could see that at least his last argument had done the trick. Vidocq was thinking. Javert must have been closer to the truth than he´d thought. Who knew how many of his oh so loyal men he really had left. 

Eventually Vidocq nodded.

“What about me?” Valjean wanted to know.

“You´re wounded.” Javert frowned at him. “Don´t be ridiculous.”

“I can still stand my ground.” Valjean objected. “You know that better than anyone.”

Javert faced the other man, trying to figure out if he was stubborn or stupid. Surely he couldn´t be serious. With an injury like his he wouldn´t last five minutes on a mission like that.

“Your friend is right.” Vidocq supported him. “You wouldn´t help us in there. With your injured arm you´re merely an obstacle. Be reasonable and stay behind. We can handle this.” 

Valjean didn´t object anymore, and Javert was grateful for that.

“Inspector.” Vidocq turned to him. “I accept your help. But only because I´m one man short as you said. And because it is your reputation on the line too.” he stepped closer. “But I need to make sure that you will not forget what the mission is. It´s not revenge on Lecomte. It´s the evidence he´s hiding there.”

“I was a police inspector, I know how to get the job done.”

“By your reputation I wouldn´t have expected anything else.”

“Javert.” Valjean spoke up, yet again and his gaze was not encouraging. He turned to Vidocq, adamantine. “I´m not staying behind.” he told him. “I´m coming with you.”

Vidocq was wise to stay out of this staring contest Javert and Valjean indulged in. But to Javert´s great misfortune, it wasn´t easy to stare the stubbornness out of this man. Valjean seemed determined to reinvent the term stubborn altogether. 

Eventually Javert turned back to Vidocq.

“Could we have a moment?”

The small man didn´t say a word. He only nodded, and left them to work out this argument on their own. And Javert was ready to silence Valjean at last.

“What are you trying to prove here?” he hissed, grabbing Valjean´s collar, startling him only for a second.

“You can´t go with them all on your own.” the injured man hissed right back, not a bit intimidated. “Don´t tell me you trust them.”

“I don´t trust any of them. But he´s right. You are an obstacle.”

“I´m touched by your concern about me.” Valjean´s voice was slicing with sarcasm. “But I can handle myself.”

Javert only laughed. “Yeah, I´ve seen how well you can handle yourself.”

“If you get wounded in this, do you really think any of these men would risk their lives or their missions to get you out of there alive?”

The hand on Valjean´s coat let go, all on its own. Javert frowned, startled. “But you would?” He couldn´t help. It felt weird to imagine Valjean risking his life for his. Judging by the other man´s reaction, this feeling was mutual.

“I would not just leave you behind.” he met him halfway. 

But even that was too much already. Javert just couldn´t take that. Someone else – and this man especially – giving up something for his well being? Impossible. People just didn´t do that.

“And what if it is you who gets shot and I would have to risk myself to get you out?” he reasoned against Valjean´s scenario. “How would you have helped me then?”

For a moment Valjean was as taken aback by the idea, as Javert had been earlier. But he overcame it, quicker. “That won´t happen.” he assured him.

Javert only laughed, dryly. “Can you guarantee that?”

“Can you guarantee it won´t happen to you?”

The ex police man stared at his former fugitive, narrowing his eyes. “That´s ridiculous.” he found at last, ready to dismiss this whole discussion. But Valjean wouldn´t let him.

“Is it, Javert?” he grabbed him, holding him back. “Is it really?”

Javert stared into those determined eyes, and he knew he wouldn´t convince him like that. He tried to think.

“I go in there to get Lecomte.” he stated, matter of factly. “I can´t need you and your pleading heart when I get my hands on him.”

Valjean took a breath, letting go of him. He seemed to take a step back after all. Javert was hopeful. But then Valjean spoke. 

“If that man really is guilty of the crimes Vidocq named …” he said. “Then I won´t plead for him.”

Javert raised his brows, regarding Valjean closely. Was he really serious with that? Did he even know what he was talking about? The way Javert saw it, Valjean might be able to promise this now, maybe even believe it. But when the time was up, and he would face the reality of this, he would back out of it again, unable to stand what Javert inevitably would do. And at Javert´s asking gaze, he seemed to know that too. He reconsidered his own words, right there.

“You won´t kill him, right?”

Javert had to think about it for a moment. “I won´t let him get away.” he said, as honest as he could get in this moment. None of them knew what would happen after all. So this was the best he could give Valjean, right now. “That´s all I can promise you.” he told him, and after a while, Valjean nodded.

“All right.” he said. “That´s good enough for me.”

Good enough. Javert could barely believe that he agreed on this term. And that he truly turned to Vidocq, who leaned against the table, waiting patiently for them to finish, and told him: “We´ll both be coming with you.”

The ex police spy sighed, but nodded in agreement. “All right then.” he glanced at Valjean, the wounded man. “But he´s your responsibility.”

Javert met Valjean´s gaze, and it seemed to communicate the same thing he thought. Wasn´t he always?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sound of the door falling shut behind them was dark and heavy, resounding from the dirty walls of this dungeon they´d been thrown in. Cosette looked about, to see Marius support his grandfather, and she instantly was at their side, to help as well.

“Grandfather!” Marius called the old man. But the baron was weak. His eyes were only half open, and Cosette already feared that he would faint any moment. 

“Oh God.” Marius cried. “I´m so sorry. I should have come with you. I should have …”

“They would have hurt you.” the baron shook his head, vehemently. “To get to me.” His eyes cleared a little, as he held himself up on his grandson´s arms. “And that´s what they will do.” he said. “Don´t think they´re done yet. They only locked us up in here together so we can talk. To give me time to think and decide that giving up is the only thing I can do.”

Cosette watched her beloved Marius, and the shadow in his face was only too well known to her by now. It was the same shadow that lay over her own mind.

“But we won´t give up.” Marius told his grandfather.

The only reaction he caused with his bravery was a hollow laughter.

“And what am I supposed to do, Marius?” the baron asked. “Watch them, how they hurt you? Torture you? Could you do this?” he asked, gesturing at Cosette with his chin, and Marius´ eyes found hers. The implication was only so much of an implication, they both knew that. She wouldn´t be safe from them either. Chivalry was not something likely to be expected from men like those. Quite the contrary. The fact that she was a weak damsel would only make her the perfect leverage for the two men.

Cosette saw the desperation in Marius´ eyes, about this truth. But it went away only a moment later, replaced by anger, and determination.

“They won´t dare to do this.” he growled but even Cosette knew how foolish it was to believe this.

“They´re not bluffing, Marius.” the baron told him. “You saw Henry.” 

Cosette closed her eyes, quietly remembering the sight of the dead man on the stretcher. The baron swallowed painfully at the memory, too. 

“These men don´t care about single lives, Marius. If they can´t break us they will take the chance of our deaths raising questions. And I wouldn´t have cared about that … as long as it was only me. But now that you are here …”

He could only shake his head, not able to go on. And Cosette was almost grateful. Because she didn´t know how much more she could take.

Unfortunately Marius was not done yet. His face darkened once again, as he took his grandfather´s arms.

“What is it?!” he demanded to know, shaking the old man, when he didn´t answer. “What do they want from you?”

The baron almost laughed. “Money.” he answered, and at this even Marius skipped back. “They want me to buy our freedom … and sell them my soul along with it.” he shook his head. “It would be a deal with the devil. They´d leave me to live on my property, as if it was still mine. But it wouldn´t be. It would be theirs. All of it. And you and your family would live under their constant watch. They would not even allow you to leave. Believe me. They´d find a way to make you stay. Only so they can keep you on the leash. It wouldn´t end with me, one day I die. This bond would enslave our family forever.”

“How can they do that?” Cosette breathed, her entire body feeling numb. “How?”

The baron only looked at her, so tired, so defeated. “Look around, my dear.” he sighed. “Then you know. Because they have the power. They have us. Our lives are in their hands. No one else knows we are here, and if they want to, they can just let us vanish. As if we were never even here.”

He took a shuddering breath. “I have only two options.” he said, looking at Marius again. “To either condemn my family to death. Or to a life in contracted slavery.”

Cosette saw Marius, pale and unable to give a response. And inside her own chest she felt a despair so cold it was freezing her heart, her entire soul. In this moment she saw again the bloody rags on the floor of her old home. The clothes her Papa had worn, bloody and torn. No sign of him anywhere. Because he was gone. While it had only been a fear before, now she was sure of it. She´d lost him. Lost him forever. Like she´d once lost her mother.

This devil Javert had killed him, and was probably long gone, to save his own life, in the distance, far from here. He´d left, heartless as he was, not even caring that he´d condemn them all to death. Because this man knew no heart. He was a destroyer of good things. And they all would die in his wake, now that he was gone.

She skipped back, more and more, until her back touched the wall, and sank down to her knees, eyes wide open. She didn´t see Marius anymore, or his grandfather. She barely took notice anymore of her surroundings at all. Her mind was somewhere else. Somewhere where pain and despair never ended. 

Her head sank down onto her arms, resting there for a moment, until she took in a long shivering breath. And at last the bottled-up flood broke lose. Not even Marius arms could stop her body from shaking, violently, giving in to this endless despair.


	16. This is my Mission

 

 

**I almost forgot to put up the last picture I made, to show the two guys next to each other. Again after a major change in their appearance.**

* * *

 

**This is my Mission**

 

It was a strange thing to watch these two. So intent on trying not to get into each others way, as if they could burn each other if they came too close. And yet there was something that kept them together just the same.

Fleuride had seen a lot of partners over the years. Eugene had hired men and women of all kinds, and usually they would work in teams of at least two. So she knew how people worked together when it came to ultimately life threatening situations.

It was missions that demanded absolute trust, nothing you did with someone you only knew loosely. Or maybe someone you wouldn´t work with otherwise, if you had a choice. And this mission was no exception. It was very likely that one or even both of them would not make it out of there – she would not put her money on the old man if anyone would have asked her, but she kept her mouth shut on this.

And what this ex inspector had said earlier, was true. If Valjean got hit and he would have to drag him behind, he´d endanger his own life. More than if he´d go alone. Who had ever heard of a liability like this man, to be allowed on an operation like this?

But for some reason Eugene had allowed it, and Fleuride had learned to trust him. If he thought it was a good idea – or at least a bearable idea – she would not object. She´d do what she always did. Help where she could, and prepare what needed to be prepared.

She opened a map on the table, putting the plans of the château right above it. “The documents we want are assumed to be here.” she pointed at a room in the second floor. “In Lecomte´s office.”

Javert glanced up at her, doubting. “Assumed?”

“He has no reason to expect them to be stolen.” she told him. “The building is highly secured and we know that he keeps his plans there.”

She didn´t intent on telling them how they knew. Time was short and they could be glad they had time for this briefing at all. So she went on, pointing out the most important details on the plans.

“There are guards posted at every entrance, and in each story. They walk around here, here and here. And they get exchanged every five hours. However. There are two dark spots that we will use for entrance. And those are here and here. You will enter with the second group, over here. Since you won´t be able to climb up to the balcony.” She glanced at Valjean. “Eugene will enter the building through the front door. He´s the diversion. The official reason for his visit will be solicitation.”

She rolled her eyes at the mere thought. Everyone who knew Eugene would instantly know that a thing like that would never happen. He´d never been the one to beg for mercy or favors. If he´d gotten them, he´d done something to get it. But Lecomte was the kind of person who would fall for an entrance like this. Sure it would flatter his ego, to have Eugene Vidocq come crawling to his door, begging for his assistance in regaining some more privileges.

“He will ask Lecomte for help, to speak up for him before the prefect, so he´ll put him back in charge like he was before.” she explained it to her two men audience, and something in Javert´s gaze told her, that he understood her view on this charade. “While he´s talking to Lecomte.” she quickly went on. “You will have time to search the office. And fetch the two men. They have their quarters up here, in the second story.”

“We don´t go there to catch Lecomte.” Javert suddenly realized and Fleuride gave him a sharp look.

“No. He´ll be facing the court as soon as we present the evidence to the authorities.” Just like you agreed upon with Eugene, she added in her mind, but restrained herself.

Javert got regarded carefully by his partner. “He won´t get away.” Valjean told him, reassuringly, and looked at Fleuride, for confirmation. “Right?”

All Fleuride gave him to help, was a raised brow, in an otherwise blank face. “That is the idea, Monsieur.”

After that she turned back to the plans. Seriously. What a stupid question was that?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Vidocq put the rest of the gear on his horse, getting ready to leave soon. He´d go alone, no other man should come with him, when he went to see Lecomte. The Capitaine would see it as weakness from his side, to come alone for a plead like that. In the middle of the night, at his castle far from public sight. Like a stray dog that came whining to the door of its master at last. Everything that would serve Lecomte´s idea of the criminal Vidocq and flatter his ego could only support the success of their mission.

Lecomte was suffering from the typical weakness of most well situated men. His own ego and self-aggrandizement. And those two things would bring him down.

The sound of fast approaching horses reached his ear, and he turned around. Three of the fast animals came galloping up the driveway, and even though he couldn´t see their faces yet, Vidocq instantly recognized the man leading them, on his riding style.

“Jacques.” he greeted, when they finally reached him. “What do you have for me?”

The man in question dismounted the horse, his face as grave as if he had to deliver the news of the death of one of Vidocq´s relatives. “Sir.” he nodded, all business, and at this Vidocq already knew he wouldn´t like the news he brought.

Jacques said: “We have a problem.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Valjean suppressed a groan, when his shoulder disabled him again. The task was so simple, merely changing into the black clothes Fleuride had given them. And yet he struggled. It was embarrassing. The mission itself hadn´t even started. It couldn´t be that hard to get into this silly jacket, dammit!

“God, it´s just impossible to watch something like that.” Javert growled and held the sleeve for him, so he could finally slip in. “You really are a millstone around my neck.” he repeated what obviously was their catchphrase by now. “Are you sure you don´t want to stay behind? You could bath your leg while we´re out there.”

Valjean raised his brows, and laughed despite his never ending worry for Cosette. Javert just looked at him, sighing, as if he knew more than well that there was no way to get around having him on his heels forever. And in this moment, Valjean was totally convinced that the inspector had indeed intended to make him laugh. And to forget his worry, just for a minute.

When Fleuride came back, she gave them both a professional once over. “All right.” she found. “Very good. You will meet the others of our team in a minute. I just heard them arrive. You will also wear these.” She handed them both another piece of cloth. Skull caps. Masks. “None of us is to be recognized.” she explained their purpose. “When you´re in there, never address each other with their real names. You´ll get a false name for the time of the mission.” She turned to Valjean first. “You´ll be Pierre.” she practically ordered him and turned to Javert, all business: “What´s your real first name?”

The question made Valjean frown, realizing something he hadn´t even noticed so far.

Javert only stared at the woman, as if she had insulted him with her question, and Fleuride finally lost her patience.

“Oh, for cry out loud.” she rolled her eyes. “Is it Jules?”

“No.” Javert´s gaze was still made of stone.

“Good.” Fleuride snapped. “Then yours will be Jules.” Her tone was angry, exasperated with the stubborn behavior she had to deal with. She turned back to Valjean. “Don´t forget his name.” she ordered. “And don´t mix it up.”

The ex convict raised his brows at the notion, but nodded obediently. “I´d never forget his name.” he assured her.

After that Fleuride turned back to Javert, regarding him for a moment, as if she wasn´t sure if it was better to keep arguing, or to rather tell him how to behave when she was around. But then she dismissed him altogether, preferring not to deal with it. She left the room with a shaking head.

The door remained open. They could hear the sounds of other people in the house. The team that had just arrived. But for now, the only thing on Valjean´s mind was Javert.

“What?” the former inspector demanded, and Valjean shook his head.

“What is your first name?” he asked.

Javert remained strangely defensive. “What difference does that make?” he asked back and Valjean had no answer to that.

“Don´t know.” he shrugged. “It´s just … I don´t know it.” There was a mean smirk on Javert´s lips, as he laughed about the remark, and at last Valjean gave it up. “In God´s name it was just an innocent question.” he cried, turning away from this stubborn man and in his need to do something, anything at all, he began to inspect the mask in his hands. He found the holes, for the eyes and rolled the skull cap back, to pull it over his head. Only once, for rehearsal so to say. God, if Javert insisted on being an idiot …

“Antoine.” Javert suddenly said, unexpectedly, and Valjean halted. For a moment he didn´t even know what this word was supposed to mean. Until it finally hit him.

“Really?”

Javert made a face. “Yes.” he affirmed. “Any problems with that?”

Valjean could not help. He smiled widely, even as he shrugged, trying to make it look casual.

“No.” His smile just wouldn´t go away. “Hello, Antoine.” he greeted. “I´m Jean.”

And here he realized something else, also unexpected, though insanely obvious. It was one of those truths a man can be aware of his whole life, but never truly realize what it means until someone or something points it out for him. Exactly such a truth just came home to Valjean.

He said: “Although I haven´t been called by that name in a very long time.”

At the other side of the room, Javert frowned, startled. “Same here.” he found, as if he´d just had the same epiphany.

Valjean regarded his gaze, a gaze he barely saw as confused and helpless as he saw it now. And somehow it was a nice thing to see it. To know that this man was only human too. If he wouldn´t remember the last time he´d said it, he would have told Javert now that they indeed had a lot in common.

But he did remember last time. So he stayed silent.

Footsteps approached, and entered the room. Vidocq, followed by a new face. “Messieurs.” Vidocq nodded at them. “You look … ready.” He turned briefly to his man. “This is Jacques.” he introduced him.

“Real or fake name?” Valjean asked, chuckling and unbelievable, Javert was smirking too. Unnoticeable, but he did. Only neither Vidocq nor Jacques seemed in the mood for jokes.

“He just came from the château.” Vidocq told them, totally serious. “I uhm … I´m afraid our mission will be a lot more complicated than I initially thought.”

“Why´s that?”

“My men just learned of three hostages that Lecomte is holding at his mansion.” Jacques informed them. “One is the baron Gillenormand.”

“The baron!” Valjean instinctively searched Javert´s gaze.

“He´s still alive.” the former inspector was as stunned as he was.

“We believe they kept him because they couldn´t just kill him like any other.” Vidocq agreed. And yet there was still something that seemed to make him uncomfortable. “They probably tortured him to buy his cooperation.” he said and Valjean understood.

“Who are the other hostages?” he wanted to know, but here Vidocq seemed even more reluctant than before.

“One is the … the grandson of the baron.” he said. “A young man named Marius.”

Valjean´s heart stopped for a moment, cold waves rushing through his body, even before Vidocq spoke his last information.

“And the other a young woman … that fits the description of your daughter.”

“Cosette.” Valjean had lost all the feeling in his body. “They have her?”

“They probably took them to extort the old man.” Jacques explained, grimly. “That doesn´t necessarily mean that they hurt them too. But I´m not gonna lie to you. It could be.”

Valjean barely heard his words. His mind was numb, struck to the bone, in total turmoil. Cosette. Cosette. Oh God, please don´t. Please. He stumbled back, more and more, until his legs bumped into something and he just dropped, luckily into a chair. “This is all my fault.” he mumbled through numb lips. “I should have never left her there. In his care. I should have taken her and left for England.”

He felt hands grabbing him, shaking him, and a familiar voice that said his name. But he couldn´t react. Something just kept him from going back to the normal world.

“Can we free them?” he heard the same voice ask and a sigh, probably from Vidocq.

“Our mission is to fetch the papers. And we already plan on capturing two men from Lecomte´s household.”

“Forget about those men.” the voice beside him roared. “There are three civilians to be saved. Innocents. You remember that word, right Vidocq?”

“I´ll be totally honest. Fetching these two men was a risk we were willing to take, because if anything went wrong, we could have left them in favor of the other evidence. In case of these three hostages that wouldn´t be an option though. The risk would be much higher. And I don´t have enough men.”

“If we steal the evidence and leave them behind …” Valjean recognized the voice of a woman – Fleuride – and the softness in her tone was so unexpected that he finally woke up. “… Lecomte will kill them.” she said. “Disregarding the baron´s title. He just couldn´t afford to leave possible witnesses alive.”

“No.” Valjean jumped up at last, and immediately Javert´s hands were back, holding him in place. “This is my daughter we´re talking about.” he cried past him, at Vidocq and his man.

“She´s right.” Javert spoke, much calmer, reasonable. “They are witnesses. Their testimony can break Lecomte´s neck as much as the confession of his accomplices.”

“Especially with one of them being a baron.” Fleuride agreed, and it was her gaze that made Vidocq falter. He wanted to agree, Valjean could see that.

“I don´t have enough men.” he said though. “For such an operation.” He shook his head. “These men would have been in their rooms, most likely sleeping. The hostages will be locked away, even guarded. We won´t get around a fight if we try to free them.”

“I don´t care.” Valjean fought against the hands holding him. “She´s my daughter. Let me go.” he demanded but Javert didn´t listen.

“I´m sorry.” Vidocq sounded honest. “I don´t have enough men.”

“You do.” Javert threw his head around. “If you call upon the police.”

This suggestion at last, made Valjean stop and halt. Did he just hear right?

“This operation is illegal as it is.” Vidocq told him, as if he rather wanted to ask him: Are you crazy? “I can´t go to the police. They´d arrest us, not them.”

“No, they won´t.” Javert insisted. “Not if you present them with the evidence. Not when the baron tells them what they did to him and his grandson.”

“They would never enter the château and arrest Lecomte. He´s one of their officers.”

“They will come. And they will enter. When you tell them that their most wanted ex inspector is inside. Trying to kill Lecomte.” Javert at last released Valjean from his iron grip. “I´m wanted for murder and treason.” he recalled, in case Vidocq should have forgotten that. “Believe me. They will come.”

“Javert.” Valjean was struck, but still not enough to forget the absurdity in this suggestion. “I´m supposed to trust the life of my daughter to the police?”

But Javert shook his head. “To me.” he corrected and somehow that alone made the big difference. “If you believe it or not, the police can do something.” He talked to Vidocq as well. “With them being there, Lecomte can not just kill us. He wouldn´t dare.”

“He could still tell them at the gate that everything is all right.” Vidocq argued, mildly. “So he can take care of us all on his own, behind closed doors.”

For a moment Valjean was discouraged by Javert´s silence. Had Vidocq convinced him after all, that this mission was useless? He couldn´t. Please, he just couldn´t. It was about Cosette!

“I´ll just have to make sure they see me.” Javert spoke at last. “Give them no choice but to enter the perimeter.”

His gaze that lay on Vidocq was pure purpose, stony and unyielding as always, reflecting a confidence he had earned in years and years of experience. Something not even Vidocq could miss. “Trust me.” Javert said. “I know how to do this.”

Valjean took his arm, making him look at him again, and Javert seemed startled. As if he had forgotten about him for a moment.

“I cannot lose her.” he whispered, begged, and Javert understood.

“You won´t.” he promised. A statement, nothing more, as if he could truly promise that and it would be true, just because he ordered it. Always and forevermore, the grand and powerful inspector Javert.

And for some reason Valjean believed him.


	17. No Way Back

It was weird. A feeling as if she was a soldier, preparing to go to the battlefield, knowing that she most likely wouldn´t return. But that was a risk they all took. She. Marius. Even the baron. These men were much more than them, and they were armed. The guards were free, and they were in this cell – so far. The guards were at home here, and with that advanced – so far. The baron was right, if they wanted to, they could simply kill them, bury their bodies somewhere and no one would ever know it happened. They would just vanish. Into thin air. Like ghosts. 

Cosette was freezing at the thought. But the thought also gave her a strength she´d never thought herself capable of. Because this thought of finality, hardened her heart, made her ready for whatever outcome there might be. If they should die in this battle to come, so be it. At least then she´d be reunited with her father in heaven. Her father who´d died by the hands of this devil Javert. She willed away the image of the bloody rags on the living room floor, and tried to focus. She´d meet him again in heaven. As well as her mother. 

And Marius would be with her too. At least in death she wouldn´t have to fear anymore, for the people she loved.

It would be over at last. Just lying down and sleep. Sleep forever. Resting, from all the pain and the suffering this life had put her through in only these few weeks. Oh God, how could it ever come so far? There had been a time when she had not feared any evil, when she had not believed in any monsters, except for those from her dreams. When she had actually allowed herself to believe that this one monster – the one in the black uniform – had only been an image of her scared mind. Not real at all. 

And then she´d seen his face again. And somehow, on that day in the streets – the same day she´d seen her beloved Marius´ face for the first time – her nightmare had started to chase her in real life. And it had chased her until now. To this point, where she was now, standing at the edge of a cliff, knowing that there was no other way, than to take even one more step further. And if she would die, hitting the ground, was totally in God´s hand.

She closed her eyes, tuning out the sounds of Marius and his grandfather knocking against the cell door, shouting for their incarcerators to come and show themselves. Cowards! Are you afraid to talk to us personally? We want to speak to Bourguignon! Now! Don´t you hear? We demand to speak to the man in charge!

Cosette had no idea how long it took for the guards to finally be fed up with them, but eventually they opened the door, ready to shut them up. Only they never got the chance. 

Marius and his grandfather were prepared, with more than just angry words. The instant the door was open they attacked, taking the two unprepared guards by surprise. The biggest surprise probably being the fact that, while the two men were holding them, it was in fact Cosette who wriggled the weapons out of their hands, disarming them. 

One pistol was all it took, aimed at them by a woman that looked so fragile and innocent. But it was her gaze that made them halt, raising their hands in careful surrender. The coldness in her eyes, that spoke of total determination, no matter what. And for a second even Marius and the baron seemed startled.

Someone was shouting outside, alarmed by the sounds of their struggle. Marius swirled the man in his grip around, bringing him before his own body, like a shield, and pushed him forward, out of the door. He kicked against the door, holding it like a second shield, and forced the man in his grip down, to the ground, just in time for the new guards to arrive.

“Not a step further!” he demanded, and Cosette, not really knowing what she did, simply knelt down beside him, aiming the pistol at those men at the end of the hallway. The gazes she saw were uncertain, calculating, but hesitant nonetheless. 

“Throw down the weapons and surrender!” one of them demanded but Cosette never moved. The baron lay a hand on her shoulder, whispering to her, to give him the gun. But she barely heard him. All her attention was on those men at the corner, her finger lying on the trigger, so tensed. It would only take one twitch of a muscle.

“You let us go or we kill your men!” Marius demanded, next to her. “You throw your guns away!” And to emphasize his words, he held the pistol to the head of his hostage. “One wrong move and your men are dead.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Javert cowered down, under the window, and checked the yard behind them, thanking every high power that might be out there, that they hadn´t been discovered yet. Now this was it. The last divide to cross, before there probably wouldn´t be any return. Maybe for both of them. But not if he could help it.

“Listen to me, Valjean.” he hissed at the injured man beside him, and the eyes he saw under the mask were wide, scared. “When we´re in there.” he told him. “And anything happens … don´t stop. Ever. Grab your daughter and whoever else you can carry and keep running. Whatever you may hear behind you, don´t turn around. You hear me?”

He could tell that Valjean didn´t understand. That the shock over this was too much for him, especially now that all his thoughts probably were with his daughter. But at least he nodded, if he understood or not. And that alone was enough for Javert.

He got up, and hurriedly worked on the lock of this window. It wasn´t as simple as picking the lock of a door, but eventually he managed to open it. He went down again, taking a moment to listen, if anyone was coming. No one was.

“Come now.” he hissed and gave Valjean a hand to climb in. Inside they went down again, quickly closing the window. Listening. The hallway was barely lit. But even then they should have heard something. Footsteps of the guards. The men were supposed to be posted only around the next corner. And he didn´t doubt that Fleuride´s briefing had been correct. So why were there no sounds of men guarding the place?

“Did the guard leave his post?” Valjean whispered barely audible, muffled under the mask. 

Javert shook his head. “Don´t know.” 

He tried to listen. There were voices, from somewhere in the distance. But he couldn´t understand any words. He only understood one thing. They were very agitated. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It´s not me. This was all Cosette could think. It´s not me, it´s you. All of you. I don´t even know who, or why or even what. But I know, just know, that this is not me. I´d never been here if it was my choice. I´d never do this. Holding a gun, like it was the easiest thing in the world, aiming it at a living person, not even caring who it is, if he has a life, if he has a sweetheart, parents, maybe children. Only caring about myself, and my own loved ones. Not caring if someone else has to die so we can be safe. Not caring if I shall die. Not caring about anything anymore.

How can this be me? I´d never do this. I´m not like this. 

No, someone is doing this to me. Making me do this. Someone or … something. A demon maybe that took over my mind, blinded it, numbed it, so I wouldn´t be able to tell right from wrong. But I am. I´m still able to decide for myself. And this is not me. I will not do this. I will not allow any evil power, to use me as their vessel.

“Be reasonable, kid.” the man at the corner cried out now. “You have no chance at all.”

“We will see how much of a chance we have.” was Marius´ response, and somehow his voice made Cosette wake up. She heard the sound of Marius´ pistol and the men at the corner tensed, as he threatened the life of his hostage yet again. “Fall back.” he demanded. “Fall back now, or he dies.”

“You can´t get away, boy.” the guard tried to reason with him. “You …” But at this someone stepped up behind the men. A man in uniform, far more important than theirs. 

Cosette flinched at his entrance. She instantly saw Javert´s face in this man, and her finger tensed around the trigger. But then her eyes focused, and she saw the real face of the newcomer. It wasn´t Javert. It was a man she´d never seen before, a few years younger than the inspector. But his eyes were not less cruel, his posture not less arrogant and confident.

“What is going on here?” he demanded, and his men instantly cowered before him. 

“Sir.” one of them saluted. “I have no idea how this happened. They must have overpowered the guards somehow.”

“I can see that.” the man replied unimpressed. “My question is what are you going to do about it?”

“Who are you?” Marius shouted at the man, ducking behind the head of his hostage.

And the man looked at them, as if Marius´ call was merely disturbing this much more important talk he´d just had.

“Where´s Bourguignon?” Marius demanded to know.

“General Bourguignon has left.” the man informed them, flatly. “I´m the one in charge here.”

“Then you will order your men to lay down their weapons and let us go.”

The officer did not even raise a brow. He simply said: “No.” And as Marius tried to threaten the life of his hostage again, he just kept talking, as if he was stating a mere fact. “You have no way to leave this castle alive. Maybe you´d make it up the stairs, but my men are everywhere. Be reasonable and give up.”

“Never.”

Marius´ roar made her flinch. Cosette quickly relaxed her finger, taking care not to put any pressure on the trigger. No. Not like this.

“What do you think will happen?” the officer asked them. “You´ll get killed on your way out. And then? No one even knows you´re here.”

“We can retrieve the other way.” the baron whispered at his grandson, behind the door, and Cosette saw Marius glance behind, just for a second, nodding.

“Face it.” the officer at the corner called for them, not having seen the exchange. “You are alone. And no one´s coming to save you.”

Marius didn´t respond. He merely held the gaze of this man, as if staring him down could make him back off. And strange as it was, it worked. Only not the way Cosette would have expected it. 

Instead of getting scared, the office only chuckled – so arrogant – and turned away, as if this annoying business was finished for him. Cosette saw him talk to his men, briefly, giving them an order of some kind, but of course they couldn´t understand his words. She only understood the gaze of the guard, just a slight shock in his eyes about the order. But that didn´t keep him from nodding, obediently.

“Yes, Capitaine.” 

That she did understand.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Is that the other group?” Valjean whispered, still trying to figure out those distant voices, but Javert shook his head.

“Don´t think so.” 

Jacques and his two criminals were supposed to enter the place a story above them, and on the other side of the castle. It was very unlikely that they could hear them, even if they would be stupid enough to make such noise. 

“Something´s wrong.” he nudged Valjean and was on his feet, hurrying towards these voices. He might not have understood the words, but the tone was unmistakable. Something was going on. And then they suddenly fell silent. From one moment to the other it was quiet, and somehow this silence made Javert stop, as if he´d run against an invisible wall. 

Valjean bumped into him, and he held out a hand, shushing him. There were footsteps, coming up some stairs. Just ahead of them.

He moved again, and reached the stairwell, just as the person came out of it. It was Lecomte. 

Javert just couldn´t believe his luck and reacted on pure instinct, before he even knew it himself. He grabbed Lecomte, gagged his mouth and pushed him against the wall. Finally.

“How polite of you, not to make us look.” he hissed, taking off his mask. Lecomte was supposed to know who had him. And the reaction was sweet like honey.

“Javert.” the officer gasped, eyes darting to Valjean, who took off his own mask much more hesitant than Javert had done it.

Javert smiled, grimly, taking in every second of this. It would be over too soon anyway.

“Are the hostages down there?” he asked, and in the corner of his eye he saw Valjean moving, to run down the stairs instantly. Alone. Unprotected. Maybe into a bunch of armed enemies. This idiot. 

“Wait!” Javert roared over his shoulder, and thankfully Valjean indeed waited.

Lecomte only laughed, under Javert´s grip. “You´ll never get out of here alive.” he said. “If you kill me or not.”

“I´m not going to kill you.” Javert replied unimpressed. “I´m going to arrest you.”

“You have no authority anymore, Javert. You´re a political fugitive. And a murderer. You killed Gareaux. And Marianne. A woman who was very close to me.” 

His fake gaze of hurt and regret made Javert boil inside. It didn´t help at all that Javert knew Lecomte had used this mockery tone on purpose. The rage was there and it demanded to be let out. He pushed him, violently, against his throat. 

“She trusted you, you bastard. I trusted you.”

Lecomte grunted under his pressure, but that didn´t keep him from laughing. “She …” he emphasized. “… kept sleeping with me even after she knew what I did. She broke my trust. Not the other way around.”

Javert took the knife from his belt before he knew it, and brought it up to Lecomte´s face, choking him, for real this time. He wouldn´t let him speak any more of this. The knife approached the man´s cheek, ready to draw blood. And then there was a hand on Javert´s arm.

“We came here for Cosette.” Valjean reminded him. And when he looked into his eyes, so calm and yet so demanding, the rage suddenly subsided. 

Javert nodded, his hand slightly relieving Lecomte´s throat.

“Where are the hostages?” he demanded to know.

And this time it was Lecomte who was fuming. “The hostages are dead.” he hissed. “You are too late, Javert.”

Valjean´s hand on his arm tensed, and then it jumped at Lecomte, trying to grab him. But Javert pushed him back with his shoulder. Lecomte was his to strangle, not Valjean´s.

“Liar.” he spat into his face. “You wouldn´t have taken all that labor upon you just to kill them. They are alive. Where are they? They are down there, aren´t they?” he gestured over his shoulder, at the stairwell again. And that was the moment when the shot echoed through the castle.

Javert felt how something went right through him. A shock so sudden he had barely ever experienced it. Or was that Valjean´s shock he felt?

“What was that?” Valjean cried, and Lecomte smiled evilly in Javert´s grip.

“I ordered to shoot the girl.” he told them. “As a lesson.”

“No!” Valjean breathed and this time Javert did not keep him away. If it was true, Valjean had the same right to kill the man, as he had. 

But then another shot rang out. And another. And Javert smiled, triumphantly.

“You ordered to shoot her repeatedly?” he mocked, and the gaze he got in response spoke volumes. This liar.

“Cosette.” Valjean let go of Lecomte and ran, down the stairs at last.

“I said wait!” Javert shouted, but of course he wouldn´t. In his lack of other options, the former inspector took Lecomte, and jerked him away from the wall. “No stunts, you hear me?” he hissed at him. “Friend.” And with that he pushed him forward, down the stairs, to follow Valjean.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cosette ducked down when the shots got fired, behind the door that Marius still held to shield them. A bullet crashed right through it, only a few inches away from her. And for some reason she wasn´t even scared. Her heart was beating normally, as if nothing of this was really happening. But she knew it was. It was.

“You go first, Marius.” the baron shouted, holding the second guard they had overpowered earlier and at last he took the gun from Cosette, her fingers not resisting anymore. Everything that happened around her was like a dream, and she was a sleepwalker, wandering through it.

She saw the baron, this brave old man, holding the hostage – still groggy – with one arm, and the gun with the other, taking over Marius´ position by the door. 

“Don´t you dare to come any closer!” he cried at the men, and over his shoulder, at Marius: “Go, now!”

And Marius, still not letting go of his own hostage, backed off. Cosette followed him, both of them walking backwards, never leaving any of their enemies out of sight. The baron shot, just as the leading guard was about to pull his trigger on them, and the man fell. Cosette felt absolutely nothing at the sight of his bloody chest. 

The other guards jumped up, as if their fallen comrade had tipped the scales for them at last. Cosette and Marius had just reached the corner. And just as the guards started to lunge for them, something happened behind them. Something that made them halt and swirl around.

The baron instantly took his chance and let go of the man he held. He swirled around and just ran.

Neither of them waited to find out what had distracted the guards. They followed the hallway, to wherever it would lead them, hoping it would be freedom.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Valjean pushed, against the musket of the man he´d grabbed, jerking him around, and brought him between himself and the guns of the other guards. A shot got fired – only one more, after so many he´d heard by now. Oh God, Cosette!

The bullet didn´t hit, thanks God. The musket he´d grabbed went off as well, firing into the wall. And Valjean was at the end of his wits. 

“Cease fire!” Javert suddenly roared beside him. He held Lecomte, the knife against the his throat. “Drop the weapons or he dies!” he ordered.

The man in Valjean´s grip kept struggling, but Valjean held him strong. The other guards still had their guns trained at him, unsure what to do.

“Guns to the ground, now!” Javert repeated, and to Lecomte. “Tell them!”

“Do what he says.” the hostage obeyed, and finally his men lowered their weapons, putting them on the ground.

“Are you hit?” Javert asked, and Valjean shook his head. “You´re such an idiot.” Javert turned to the guards. “Into the cells now!”

Valjean turned the man he still had in his grip around, to face him. “Where is my daughter?” he demanded to know, while the rest of them reluctantly entered the cell.

“They ran.” the man answered, and Valjean let go of him. He didn´t even stay to watch Javert finish his task of locking them up. He had to find Cosette before something happened to her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cosette remembered the hallway, from when they´d been brought down to the cells. It was surreal to be back up here. As if she was not awake, but dreaming. Maybe she would wake up later, still in the cell, and find that their escape had been nothing but an illusion of hope. A dream that would fall apart to nothing as soon as she opened her eyes.  
But she couldn´t think like that. She mustn´t. Marius was already trying every window, and so did the baron. They were all locked.

From ahead they heard sounds, voices, and Cosette reached for the next best door that she could find. It opened, to a writing room, and they rushed in, as quickly as they could, closing the door quietly behind them. Marius tried the window again. And again it was locked. But this time he wouldn´t let this stop him. He reached for the chair, at the desk, and just threw it. 

The sound was shattering, in more than one way. Cosette felt it echo in her head, even after the shards of glass had stopped raining down. 

“Hurry.” Marius cried, but the guards had already heard them.

The door got thrown open, and Cosette had no time to notice consciously, what happened after that. All she knew was that all the sudden she was ducking behind the big desk that had stood on its legs only a moment ago, and was now lying turned over. And that there was a shot in the air, the smell of gunpowder beside her.

A groan from the door and then experienced hands reloaded the gun for Marius.

“Quick.” the baron urged, aiming his gun over the edge of the turned over table. Cosette tried to remember if they had had time to reload both pistols, and failed. Maybe the baron was bluffing. Maybe he wasn´t.

“You have no chance!” a man called out for them, once again. “Give up and come peacefully.”

Cosette met Marius´ gaze and what she saw there was not encouraging. 

“We only have one bullet left in here.” he told her, and her eyes got transfixed on the pistol in his hand. His gaze went over to the window, and Cosette could feel his dread as if it was her own. So close but yet too far. If they should try to bolt for this escape, they would get shot.

“You run.” the baron ordered, but Marius objected instantly.

“No.”

“Do what I say, Marius.” the baron held out his hand. “Give me the gun. I buy you some time.”

“I can´t leave you, grandfather.”

“You will.” the baron cocked his probably empty pistol, emphasizing for the men at the door, and the guards halted, not knowing they were facing a threat that in fact wasn´t even real. “You´re the one who has to live.” he told Marius. “Be fast. Run zigzag, that makes it harder for them to hit you. Run as far away as you can. Find help.”

“No.”

“Marius, do what I tell you. You have to get Cosette out of here.”

Eventually Marius nodded, tears in his eyes, and instead of handing the gun to his grandfather, he put it into Cosette´s hand. Her fingers closed around it almost too easily. As if she had only waited for this familiar feeling of a gun in her hand again.

“We´re coming in now.” the guard at the door told them, matter of factly, when he was fed up with this game of waiting. “Lay down your weapon or you´re all gonna die.”

But that was the last thing these guards ever spoke, so confidently. Because in the next moment they got attacked.

Once again, Cosette did not even know what happened, until it was over. And then she heard a voice that made her heart leap, where she´d believed it had died already. 

“Cosette!”

“Papa?” She couldn´t believe it. Seeing his face was making her head swirl. With joy, with fear, with unspeakable confusion. He looked so strange. So awful and wasted, with his curls gone and this beard darkening his face. But it was him. Alive. And then he was at her, his arms around her, embracing her, so warm, it could not be anyone but him. No, this was no illusion, no dream of her racked mind. He really was here. Alive.

“Oh God.” she cried. “Papa.”

“Thanks God, you´re alive.” he breathed, and she almost broke apart, deep inside.

“I thought you were dead.” she wept, and his gentle hand was easing her hair.

“It´s all right.” he shushed her. “It´s all right, Cosette. I´m here now.”

Cosette spotted Marius, over the arm of her father, so relieved. And then there was a voice sounding from the door. A voice that made her blood run cold all over again.

“Move.” the rough tone was unmistakable, and when Cosette looked up, she saw Javert, coming in, a gun in his hand. He was with the officer that had threatened them before, downstairs, in the dungeons. And Cosette reacted on pure instinct.

“Papa, watch out!” she shoved him aside, violently. For a moment she´d almost forgotten about the gun in her hands, but now that she saw this awful face again, so raging and dangerous, she felt the heavy weight again, and she embraced it.

The shot rang out before she knew it. The pistol got thrown back into her face, almost knocking her off her feet. But she knew she´d hit. She must have.

“No!” a desperate shout reached her ear, but it was not the voice of the enemy. It was her father´s.

Cosette felt Marius´ arms around her, catching her when she swayed. And her eyes caught sight of her father, rushing towards the door. The officer just straightened, holding the gun he´d taken from Javert, and her father knocked it out of his hand, just before he got pushed back by this man. 

Cosette heard him cry out in pain, saw him hold his injured shoulder. And then she watched with dread, how the first thing he did, after the officer had closed the door behind himself, was not to follow him, but to kneel down, beside Javert.

“Javert.” he cried, shaking him. “No. No, please, stay awake.” And then he glanced at her, over his shoulder. “Why did you do this?”

Cosette felt out of place by now. As if not she was here, but someone else. Marius was not with her any longer. He was at the door, pushing it. But it was locked.

“You must lay still.” Cosette heard her father´s soft voice, talking to this man. “You hear me?”

She inched closer, not even noticing her feet were moving. All she could do was stare in shock. The monster she had seen storming through the door, was now a broken man, lying in her father´s arms. Like she had once been in his arms.

“I´m sorry.” she heard him whisper, and her father shook his head, laughing out.

“For what?”

But Javert was giving him no answer. He only closed his eyes, gasping at the pain. Pain Cosette had caused, by nothing more than twitching her finger. 

Her father pressed his hand on the bloody shoulder, trying to examine the wound.

“It isn´t deep.” he told Javert. “You´re going to live.”

But all Javert would do, was laughing, as if this sentence had been funny.

“Liar.” he breathed, and already seemed to be drifting away.

“No.” her father cried, almost angry now. “Wake up.” he shook Javert. “Don´t leave now. Antoine!”

This name at last, seemed to wake him up again, as if he was irritated by being called like this. Cosette felt a sudden tightening in her chest, at the notion of her father calling this man by his first name.

He smiled at him now, satisfied. “That´s good.” he praised. “Stay with me, Antoine. Don´t fall asleep.”

Cosette watched Javert meeting her father´s gaze, so confused. As confused as she was, that he cared so much. He nodded down on him, encouraging.

“There´s police out there.” Marius suddenly cried, and when Cosette swirled around to him, he stood at the window, glancing out.

“Vidocq.” her father breathed. “He made it.”

Javert reached out for him, grabbing his shoulder, and he turned back. 

“They …” the bleeding man struggled to speak. “They need to see me.”

But her Papa shook his head. “You need to lay still. You can´t …”

“He´ll send them away.” Javert´s voice gained back some of his old strength, and for a moment Cosette´s heart began to beat in fear again. Her father´s gaze only showed concern though. Not for himself. For the man that lay before him. “He´ll claim that they´re not needed here.” Javert insisted. “They must see me.”

Cosette had no idea what he was saying. What all this was supposed to mean. But when Javert was trying to get up, her father helped him, one arm around his waist, to hold him up, where Javert couldn´t stand alone. She watched how he supported him, to get him to the window. Marius joined in as well, supporting Javert from the other side. It was unreal, to say the least. And yet, Cosette did not do anything.

All she did was watching, as her father and the man she loved, helped the man she had feared all her life, until he reached the window and could stand alone, one hand on the sill. The two men stepped back, just a bit, still ready to grab him again, should he be swaying. But he didn´t sway. He stood, not quite steady, but he stood. And his eyes were on the outside. 

Cosette took a step aside, automatically, to peek out of the second window. There was indeed police at the gate, just as Marius had said. He came to her now, as if she needed to be held as well. And maybe he was right with that.

Together they watched, as Javert opened his mouth and shouted, loudly, out to the police men.

“Lecomte!!!”

Cosette did not flinch this time. Her time of flinching was over. And Javert´s voice had not been as strong as it could have been, had he been unharmed.

Through the window she saw the police men swirl around, at the call. And when they saw Javert in the window, they were flinching. Some of them immediately took their muskets, aiming at him. And Javert did nothing. Only stood there, looking out.

The shots got fired, echoing in the night out there. And Cosette saw her father throwing himself at Javert, just in time to drag the man out of the line of fire. 

They hit the ground, grunting, and once again her father´s first action was to check on Javert. He was still conscious. But very weak.

“You stubborn … man.” he cursed. “Lay still.”

Cosette felt Marius´ arms tighten around her. She knew he watched the police outside, but she could only see her father, and this man he´d saved just now. The man that should have been his enemy.

Javert was drifting off, his eyes so glassy, not on anything, just far away, somewhere at the window and the nightly sky out there.

“They´re coming in.” Marius cheered at last, and Cosette saw her father smile, at Javert.

“You hear that?” he asked him. “You made it.” But Javert barely seemed to hear him. “Hey!” he shook his cheek, so gently. “Antoine.” And finally he caught his gaze again. “You saved us all.” he spoke, as if it could be the last thing on earth he´d ever say to him.

Javert´s hand reached out, and found his arm, weakly squeezing. And Cosette could see a smile, so grateful, on his lips. His eyes fell shut. The hand on Valjean´s arm slipped down and fell to the ground. Javert fell at last into the darkness.


	18. Into the Dark

The time after the events at the castle were like a fog to Cosette. She could barely remember the details after the police had entered the place. She still knew how they had gotten … what? Arrested? Rescued? She recalled a lot of shouting. The baron, demanding that someone should try to help the dying Javert. Her father´s eyes on her, so strange, and tired, as if he didn´t even know her. Or maybe … what had become of her.

They´d escorted them out, back to their homes. And for hours and hours Cosette had waited in her room, for those responsible to decide what should happen to them now. Marius had wanted to stay with her, but she had refused, wanting to be alone. She had retrieved to her room, while all over the house, police men had questioned her father, the baron, Marius. Everyone involved. Cosette had heard their voices, faint and impossible to understand through the walls. 

And all the while she´d fallen. Fallen into a never ending abyss. Something inside her soul had died that night. She had felt it fading away, in those hours. She looked down on her hands, wringing, and her whole head was swirling, while the same time her entire mind was steady and unmoving. As if no feeling whatsoever had been left inside of her. Except for this hollow something she couldn´t name. But if it was close to any known feeling, it was related to despair. 

Cosette did not know how much time had passed, until the door finally opened and her father stepped in. She got up from her bed, meeting Marius´ eyes over the shoulder of her father, ever so briefly. But he did not enter. As if he knew that this was not his place to be at. That this was something only Cosette and her father could work out.

None of them spoke a word. Still she could see the pain in his eyes and when he took her into his arms, Cosette allowed it. But it was different. The warmth she´d used to feel in her Papa´s arms, was not as comforting that night. The coldness that had taken over her soul could not be chased away that easily.

“Why did you do it?” he asked, and his voice was so low. So broken. Of course he didn´t need to say what It was.

She had done it knowing that she´d take the life of a man. And she hadn´t cared about this life. She´d even wanted him dead.

Her father seemed to read all this in here face, even though she never said a word.

He sighed, so deeply, as if it hurt him more than anything had ever hurt him in his life. What she had done. What had become of her.

“We need to talk.” he said, his voice so broken, and she could just sit down, without a word, and then she listened. Listened to him for hours, as he told her, told her everything.  
She heard it. Heard the story of her mother, her death, of a man who´d lived a life of a fugitive, a lie before the world, for stealing a loaf of bread, once upon another lifetime. A man who gave his word to a dying woman, to take care of her daughter. She heard the story of this man, him, and the man who´d hunted him. Javert. She heard it all, and more. And not a single time she spoke a word. Did not ask any questions. She didn´t need to. He told her, all that there was to tell. As if he could not, even if he wanted to, stop, now that he finally confessed this truth. 

When he was finished, Cosette felt empty, and at the same time way too full for her to ever bear it all. Who was this man? Her father whom she´d loved her whole life. Who had her mother been? The woman she had loved so unconditionally as a child, who had died so far away from her. Who´d been Javert, the man from her nightmares, who had hunted them so mercilessly all those years. Who´d saved them all just a few hours ago, accepting willingly that he would have to give his own life for it. Nothing in her life seemed to be what she´d believed it to be. Not anymore.

And what about herself? Who was she in all of this? Who had she been in all those years? And who was she now, after this night? After what she´d done? She didn´t know. Not anymore. Maybe she had never known at all.

“Cosette?” her father addressed her, carefully. “Please, my child. I am so sorry.”

But Cosette could not answer. She wanted to, but couldn´t. Somehow she managed it to hug him, show him that she didn´t hate him. That she was not the one who had to give her pardon. That all she knew was that she didn´t know anything at all.

She wished she could tell him this. That she could ask, beg him for help, and guidance. To show her what to do with herself now. How to go on. But she couldn´t. The demons of this night had stolen her voice. The demons that had made her do these things, that had planted such hatred in her soul, and who had stolen her emotions. 

She left her father´s warm embrace and ran away from him, in shame and sorrow. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Please, Madame. You must let me see her.” Marius was trying uselessly to convince the servant Toussaint to let him in. Cosette had chosen to stay at the house, away from her father, away from anyone, even him. The police was guarding the place, like they were guarding all of them until further notice. But Cosette had not left her room, the servant said. She did not speak, did not want visitors. 

“She asked me to let no one in.” the woman told him, apologetically. “Not even you, Monsieur. I´m sorry.”

“Where is she?” he demanded to know. “I saw her, just before. She´s not upstairs. Where is she?”

The servant didn´t answer. But somehow Marius knew it anyway. “She´s in the garden, isn´t she?”

“Monsieur!” Toussaint cried after him, but he was gone already, rounding the house, to reach the gate. He would speak to Cosette. If this woman wouldn´t let him into the house, then he would see her otherwise. And if he had to break in, while Toussaint was attempting her duties at the apartment in Rue de l´homme armee for Monsieur Fauchelevant, he didn´t care. Somehow he would get rid of this police man that followed him everywhere. Even now. 

But right now this silent guard was the farthest thing on his mind. All he cared for was Cosette. And then he found her, just as he had guessed, in the garden. On her own. And when he saw her, he almost believed to see a ghost. She was sitting on the bench, at the back door of the house. Her head was bowed, her hands folded in her lap. Through the branches of the bushes, she seemed lost, like a child to him.

The gate was closed. He couldn´t enter.

“Cosette!” he called, and she looked up. But she did not say anything. For a moment she tensed, and he could see her eyes, glistening with tears.

“Cosette, let me in. Talk to me.”

But she wouldn´t. She looked at him for another silent minute, before she simply stood up, and went back inside the house, not speaking a single word. As if she ran from him.  
Marius stood there, thunderstruck, and didn´t know what to do or say. It was the last time he ever tried to reach her in her solitude.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He didn´t know anymore what to do. After so many years of avoiding a fight, he´d lost them all, in one night. Cosette was isolating herself from the world, and he who´d always tried to protect her by doing exactly that, did not know how to help her. If she wouldn´t even see her love Marius, how could he help? He was an old man. 

Dear God above. Should he at last lose the battle on all those fronts? Should he lose them all now? First Javert, now Cosette, who he´d believed to have lost before, but now it was so much worse. Now she had lost herself, in a darkness of her own mind. One that Valjean feared to know only too well. Oh, he´d always tried to protect his daughter from this shadow. And now? He´d pushed her into it, all by himself. 

Oh God, what had he done to her? 

So much pain had been caused, maybe not by him alone, but what exactly had he done to keep it from happening? Javert had been right. He´d always been a coward. Always trying to run away from his problems instead of facing them. And now? Now it was too late. The damage was done. The victims were once again those who deserved to be spared. 

Why was life so cruel? Why was it always taking everything? Was there no hope left in this world? 

This apartment had been so quiet these last few days. As if it was a tomb. And wasn´t that even the truth? He felt as if he´d been dying away too. The police before his door, as if he was in prison once again. Only Javert was not his warden any longer. His daughter was gone, and Javert … too. Valjean had no hope left by now. Not anymore. Not after Marius´ visit and what he had told him about Cosette. What kind of father could keep up hope after such a message?

Oh God, if you had only taken me. My soul was yours all along. Why did you allow hers to get lost like this? Couldn´t you have taken me, and save all the others instead?

Or was that his punishment? For all his crimes? Before and after Toulon? Was it that? That he should live to see everyone else around him perish? Was that God´s plan for him? Had the bishop been that wrong back then? It certainly felt like that.

In this moment Valjean would have been happy to lay down and die, to follow those who had already died in this adventure. And maybe he would have done exactly that, had not in this moment Toussaint called out his name.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The air around him was foggy, the daylight hurting his eyes, his brain, his entire being. His mind didn´t want anything more but to crawl back into the dark where it had just come out of. Why did he have to be here? Why did it have to be so bright? And who was making all that noise?

He turned his head and spotted a woman, busy on the table near his bed. He recognized her but didn´t remember her name.

When she turned around and saw him, she gasped. And for a moment it seemed that this was all she was capable of. Until she found her voice again, and ran out, yelling for her master.

“Monsieur! Monsieur Fauchelevaunt! You must come fast. He´s awake.”

Great, Javert thought. And now the whole neighborhood knows that.

A minute later a man stood in the door, paling visibly when his eyes fell on him. As if the fact that he saw him alive was a shock for him, not a relief. Eventually he dropped onto the bed beside him.

“Dear God, it is so good to see you awake.” he exclaimed. “You´ve been sleeping for three days.”

Javert didn´t answer, didn´t fight off the hand that checked his forehead, didn´t try to comment or react to this strange sort of caring that he surely wasn´t used to.

He tried to speak but couldn´t. His throat was totally dried out. His coughing hurt, closing his throat as if he´d tried to swallow glue. It was almost impossible to even breath. Valjean was holding him, like a child, and all the sudden there was a glass on his lips and water, cool and fresh, filling his mouth. Javert gulped it, greedily, and soon, way too soon, the glass was empty. 

It took a moment to recover. Deep raspy breaths. But then at last his head began to clear. He was alive. And he could see again. Valjean was still beside him, still holding him as if afraid he could begin to shake again.

“What happened?” Javert asked, at last the master of his voice again.

Valjean just sighed, and allowed him to lay down again, as if the task of holding him was too much of a burden all the sudden.

“Far too much.” he answered his question, and Javert frowned. That wasn´t good.

“Mind to be a little more specific?” he rasped, coughing again when his throat tickled. 

Valjean refilled his glass with new water and handed it to him. Javert took another gulp, gratefully, and finally his host gave him a real answer. 

“The police came in and saved us.” he told him. “We´re under house arrest. Everyone, even the baron. So they can keep control over the investigation and everyone involved. We´re allowed to leave as long as a guard is with us.”

“So everyone … got out? Your daughter? The boy?”

Valjean nodded, but there was something deeply sad in his eyes. “They´re … unharmed.” he said, and nothing more. “You saved us all.” he added and those words were so obviously forced, only meant to comfort him, Javert, where it was obvious that Valjean was the one who desperately needed comfort. For what reason ever.

“Are we charged with anything?” Javert asked, only to get away from this wave of unwanted concern. 

“Trespassing.” Valjean forced himself to answer. He seemed grateful though, to be allowed to talk about simple facts. “Participating in an unwarranted operation. Vidocq got the worst. He says they´ll probably shut down his force for good this time. But they accepted the evidence his men found.” he nodded at Javert´s hopeful gaze. “Jacques was successful too.” he affirmed. “Lecomte will go to prison. For a long time. So will Talbert, the mayor´s secretary.”

“What about us?”

“We will be cleared. At least for the murder charges and the treason. The evidence is strong. Although … there are some minor charges that remain. The stolen carriage …”

Javert couldn´t help. He chuckled at this oh so familiar way of handling a case. Yeah, sure, the carriage was of high importance. 

“Don´t worry.” Valjean told him. “I have a good lawyer, he´ll manage the necessities. None of us will have to go to jail.”

One more time Javert smiled, only this time his smile increased to a dry laughter. Oh, what a joke of a merciful fate. 

Valjean, the real ex convict, didn´t seem to share the humor. “This world really hasn´t changed a bit.” he sounded bitter. “They charge you, while in fact they should give you a medal. You didn´t have to stay and do this. You could have run.”

Javert watched this man beside his sickbed closely. “So could you.” he mentioned, never moving his eyes away for only a second.

But Valjean shook his head. “I´m not you.” he said. “I´m not a police man.” He sighed, and his sigh was shaking. “I´m just a fugitive. Running away, rather than face the battle.”

Javert was frowning, irritated. “What the hell is the matter with you?” he asked. “What are you even talking about?”

But Valjean shook his head, once again. “Never mind. You need to get better, that´s more important now.” he got up at last. “I´ll ask Toussaint to bring you some soup.” 

And with that he left, leaving Javert with the deepest frown, and more questions than he had woken up with. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cosette swirled around when he entered the place, staring at him wild eyed, as if he was a burglar. God, the poor kid, the baron thought. He had rarely seen such pain, not in all his years. But she was a young woman, not meant to live through cruel things like these. And so of course he understood.

“Monsieur.” he heard her breath, trying to regain her posture. “I told Toussaint to let no one in.”

The old baron smiled. “I intimidated her with my title.” he admitted shamelessly. “And this young man´s uniform also made some impression.” he gestured for the guard at his heels, making the man visibly uncomfortable. “I needed to see you.” he told Cosette.

“This isn´t appropriate. How dare you …?”

“I had to see you.” he insisted, gently but firm. “For Marius´ sake.”

That at last seemed to get through to her. She was still tensed, as if she expected a physical attack. But her eyes wandered, quickly, as she took his words in.

“What about him?” she asked, clearly worried.

“He doesn´t sleep.” the baron told her. “Barely eats. He´s weak, Mademoiselle. I´m afraid he will fall ill again, if you don´t come and see him soon.”

The young woman only stared, as if he was a monster, threatening her instead of begging her for her help.

“What makes you think I could help him?” she asked, and almost angrily added: “You need to get him a doctor.”

“He saw a doctor.” the baron assured her. “But he needs you. He´s like this because he´s worried about you, my dear.”

As if those words had ashamed her, she cast her eyes down.

“Please.” the baron begged. “Please, come with me, and talk to him.”

“I can´t.” she tried to smile, apologetically, but it betrayed the tears she was suppressing. “I …” she shook her head. “I just can´t. I´m sorry.”

“Why?” the old man inched closer to her. “What would possibly keep you from seeing the man that you love? You do love him, don´t you?”

“Of course.”

“Then why won´t you come with me? Why won´t you see him? Dear God above, just tell me.”

But all she did was shaking her head. 

“I know what bites you.” the baron sighed, deeply, feeling the pain in his heart as if it was his own. “It´s the same ill that soldiers feel after returning from battle. It´s the same pain Marius felt when he survived the barricades. Don´t you see? He´s the one you have to seek out. He can help you through this, the way you helped him through his pain.”

But once again she shook her head. “It´s not the same.”

“It is.”

“No.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Because he hasn´t killed a man in cold blood, when he was there.”

For a moment the baron just stared at her, unable to compute. But then his mind went back to work, and he took her hand.

“My dear, you didn´t kill anyone. What happened was an accident. The inspector survived. And Marius … what he did at the barricades … I´m sure that of course he …” he forced himself to stay at the point. “He will understand.” he assured her.

But all his well meant words, all his gentleness didn´t change anything. She was still shaking her head, vehemently.

“It´s not that.” she sobbed. “I know he´d … I know.” The tears finally rolled. “It´s just that I can´t. And as long as I can´t understand myself, I can´t go and see him. I just can´t.”

The baron groaned inwardly at her pain. It hurt, so much, to see that. “My dear …”

“Please.” she let go of his hands, practically shoved them away. “Just leave me. Tell Marius I´m fine. That he shall not worry about me.” And having spoken this, still crying the thickest tears of pain, she swallowed, and composed herself. “Tell him that I´ll see him … soon enough. Just not now.”

And the old man, just didn´t know what else to do, than grant her wish.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was a weird feeling to sit down with Valjean, on his table, in his home, getting food served by him. As if it was totally normal to have him, Javert, the man who had chased him all those years, as a guest in his house. 

“Where´s your servant?” he asked, quietly, while Valjean filled the bowls with soup.

“At the house.” was the brief answer. His host didn´t even look at him. “She can´t be at two places at once. And I rather have her look after Cosette.” 

He sat down, and started to cut some bread.

“Why isn´t she here?” Javert was a little irritated by the fact that Valjean avoided his gaze so sternly. “Your daughter I mean.” he suddenly felt uncomfortable. “Is it because of me?”

At this Valjean´s eyes flickered up, just for the briefest moment, before he dropped them again.

“Maybe.” he admitted, reluctantly, still slicing the bread. “But …” he shook his head. “That´s not it. It´s my fault as well. Mostly … actually.” He at last, let go of the knife, as if the exertion of working through the bread was too much for him.

“You had an argument?” Javert took a guess but again Valjean shook his head. 

“The truth is not easy to take.” he said, his voice tired. “Especially not such a truth.” he sighed. “I never wanted her to know.”

And finally Javert understood. “You told her.”

The other man closed his eyes, as if those words had hit him like a fist. “She made me. I had no choice. Damn it.”

Javert couldn´t help it. He was mesmerized. “So she knows?” he asked. “Everything?”

Valjean nodded, eyes still closed.

“How did she react?”

And finally Valjean looked up, sharply. “She moved out.” he repeated the facts.

“Oh.” Javert felt like an idiot. “Sure.” 

On the other side of the table Valjean turned to his soup and started to eat, as if munching this meal could somehow help him to swallow his anger about this situation. And Javert only sat there, watching, unable to understand. Where was the problem in this? This was Valjean after all.

“She´ll forgive you.” he told him, just in case the other man had forgotten how much the girl loved him. Her foster father, who´d given up almost everything for her. Who would have died for her.

But Valjean didn´t seem to remember this little fact. He put down his spoon as if Javert´s comment was downright ridiculous.

“She´s not only denying to see me.” he informed him. “She talks to no one. Not even the boy. She´s isolating herself from the world and I … I don´t know what to do.”

“How about talking to her?”

“I tried. She won´t see me.”

“Don´t give her a choice.” it was so weird to see how this seemed to be such a problem. “She can´t lock her door from you.” he said. “You´re her father. Tell her that isolating herself won´t do. It won´t solve her problems. Maybe she thinks it will, but … it won´t.”

Valjean looked at him, for a long time. “Maybe you should talk to her.” he suggested at last, making Javert recoil.

“You must be out of your damn mind, Valjean.”

“I can try to tell her all this but she won´t listen.” the other man insisted. “Maybe she´ll listen to you. This is about you after all.”

“This has nothing to do with …”

“It has.” Valjean´s tone didn´t leave any room for arguments. “It has! She shot you. She feared you, dis … disliked you. Didn´t trust you. Because I made her believe you were evil. I never intended that, it just happened. And now … she feels guilty. I could try to tell her that she doesn´t have to. But she won´t listen. But if you tell her … Please.”

Javert stared at him, this pleading gaze. He hated it, struggled with himself, but there was something about Valjean and the way he could plead with all his heart, that made it impossible even for him – or maybe especially for him – to say no.

“You can´t seriously believe that I would make a difference.” he tried it anyway.

“Will you do it?” Valjean only asked, as if Javert had already halfway agreed. “Please, Javert. Antoine. I don´t know what else to do.”

And in this moment, the former police inspector just knew, that he didn´t need to say it. He already had agreed. And Valjean knew this.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Getting out of the fiacre was like stepping into an oncoming storm, even though the sky was light blue and the tiny breeze that met Valjean´s face nothing near a storm. He looked at the house, his house, and he felt cold and hot all in one. Oh God please let this work.

Javert stepped up beside him, looking at the house, just the same, and his gaze was not encouraging. Valjean threw a glance at the guard that waited a few steps away, trying unsuccessfully to pretend he wouldn´t be interested in what they were doing here, or what they might have to say.

“Let me ask you something.” Javert spoke. He seemed much more content with the other police man around, Valjean noticed, but shoved it aside. Javert asked: “Did you come along for your daughter´s safety. Or for mine?”

The father in Valjean gasped at the implication. “She´s not a mad woman, Javert.” he cried. “She´s just confused.”

“Aha.” the other man made. “So … when you know so well what is the matter with her, why don´t you talk to her?”

Valjean simply couldn´t believe it. Did Javert seriously try to back out now? Now?

“I told you, I tried.”

“Try harder. You really think I could reach her where you couldn´t?”

“I presumed that it was only fair for you to try it, since you are the reason for her state of mind.”

“So this is all my fault now.”

“I didn´t say that.”

“You said I´m the reason for this.”

“But not that it is your fault. It´s no one´s fault.”

“So it was fate that brought us here, is that it?”

“Maybe.”

Javert only shook his head, as if this whole conversation was leading him nowhere, and actually started to turn around, away from him. Valjean grabbed his arm, the injured one, knowing that it would cause pain, and he was right. Javert hissed, trying to avoid more pain by halting, carefully. Good.

“I saved your life at least three times since this has started.” Valjean reminded him. 

But obviously the little pain he´d caused was not enough to humble Javert. “And I saved your ass just as often.” he retorted. “I´d call that being even.”

And at this comment, suddenly Valjean felt himself nod, in agreement.

“Maybe that is the reason why we´re here.” he mused, surprising not only himself. Javert frowned totally taken by surprise. 

“Maybe that´s the reason why you could never catch up with me all the way.” Valjean mused. “Why I could never get rid of you for good. We´re just too good. The both of us.”

The police guard behind them frowned, irritated by their conversation, but all Valjean could see was the uncertainty in Javert´s eyes. The former inspector, his hunter for many years. And then he finally broke into a smirk, snorting.

“You are ridiculous, you know that.”

Valjean could only shrug. “I´m an old man.” he apologized. “Allow me to be a little queer.”

The guard behind them, visibly stepped back, accepting their exchange as exactly what Valjean had just said. Nothing but queer old man´s talk. Little did he know, the young lad.

Valjean watched as Javert only shook his head, before looking up the house. When he suddenly frowned, Valjean followed his gaze, and spotted an open window. A figure backed off from it just as he looked. Cosette!

“All right.” Javert said, as if this sight had convinced him at last. “I´ll do it. But I want something in return.”

“Anything.”

“I need to go someplace after this is over.”

“Wherever you want.”

Valjean would have promised anything right now, anything it took, if it only got him his daughter back.

Javert nodded.

“Good.” And with that he entered the place.

Valjean followed and upstairs at the door, he took the lead again. It wasn´t necessary that Javert took it all out of his hands. Cosette was still his daughter, this place still his house. 

“You wait out here.” Javert ordered the sergeant. “This is a private matter.”

The young police man stood back, obediently. It didn´t seem to matter that Javert had no authority anymore. His demeanor was still intimidating. And the young officer felt that.

Valjean for his part was grateful for that. He didn´t want a strange man around, when he talked to his daughter. Slowly he opened the door.

“Cosette.” he had to steel himself for this confrontation, and to claim he wasn´t nervous would have been a lie. He was freaking close to panic. “Cosette, I know you told me not to come here but …” 

His words died in his throat, when he saw her standing in the middle of the room, facing them, as if she had awaited them the whole day. Her posture was straight, almost too much, and her face as sad and empty as he´d seen it last time. Valjean did not know what to say.

Cosette moved her head, just a tiny bit, acknowledging his entrance.

“A familiar sight by now.” she mentioned. “You coming through the door, and he´s behind you.”

Valjean felt ice cold, as he searched Javert´s gaze, as uncertain as his. When he turned back to Cosette again she lowered her gaze, apologetically.

“I´m sorry. I didn´t mean it like that.”

Again Valjean met Javert´s gaze, asking him to please, help me here. And Javert cleared his throat, awkwardly. 

“I only came here to help.” he spoke, stiffly. “You father asked me to.”

“I know.” Cosette had her gaze away from them, to the side. “I heard you talking.” Her eyes flew to the open window. “I know.” she repeated, and something in her tone was bad. Very bad.

“Cosette.” Valjean stepped forward. “Please, forgive me, I …”

“It´s not you who needs forgiveness.” she talked over him, almost fiercely, skipping back from his approach. “I´m not mad at you.” she shook her head. “I just … I don´t understand. I can´t. All of what you told me … everything I believed in … it´s all wrong. The things I believed to be right. They don´t fit anymore. And I don´t know why. And I seem to be the only one who doesn´t understand. And I don´t understand that either. Something is wrong with me and I don´t know what it is.” Her desperate look changed, suddenly, as her eyes found Javert and Valjean almost felt the coldness radiating from that gaze. “I wanted your death.” she spoke. “With all my heart and now … I´m falling.” her voice broke. “I see a void before me and I can´t see the bottom of it. I don´t … I tried to pray but God doesn´t give any answers. I don´t know where to turn.”

She turned away from them, facing the open window. And something about the gesture scared Valjean to the very core of his heart.

“Cosette, please don´t talk like that.” 

He wanted to approach her, to take her into his arms and comfort her, do anything that was necessary. But Javert held him back. The hand on his arm was so firm, and the gaze of the former inspector, so worried on Cosette that Valjean didn´t know what to do with it. Except obeying.

Oh God, she was too close to the window, too depressed in her mind, too withdrawn from them even while she was talking to them. If they were not careful … 

“Leave the room.” Javert suddenly whispered at him, leaning in so only he would hear his words. 

Valjean opened his mouth, to object, but Javert stopped him, simply by saying: “Trust me.”

And something inside Valjean wanted nothing more than to do just that. To trust Javert, with the life of his daughter, the only reason why he was alive at all. To lay his life and everything he cared about in this world, into the hands of the man that had hunted him for years, to throw him back into prison. What a world.

“Wait outside.” Javert told him. “At the front door.” And just one more time, he repeated: “Trust me.”

And even though he didn´t know why, Valjean did.


	19. Across the Divide

After the door was closed behind Valjean, Javert faced the girl. She still had her back to him, eyes at something outside the window, the sky maybe. But Javert knew the sky was not what she was seeing. In her eyes was something else. Something he remembered only too well.

“I know what you´re saying.” he spoke, feeling as if someone else was speaking through him. “I´ve seen the same void. I know it´s depth. It´s darkness.” 

Finally she moved, turning back around to him, startled, as if his voice had come to her from a strange place. Something she hadn´t expected to hear in the place she was in. Tears were collecting in her eyes. God, she was so confused, even cold separated Javert could see that.

“I know its sight.” he repeated. “And I know it is calling you. It tells you that joining the darkness would end this pain. This suffering … I heard that voice too.”

He watched her reaction, so desperate, and the words just came out of him, as if it wasn´t him who spoke. As if he didn´t have any control about his words at all. Now that her father was gone, he could speak freely at last, the last restraint gone. And the flood came pouring, almost devastatingly, from him, who had never shown to anyone what was really hidden inside, behind this mask of stone and righteousness.

He said: “But this call is deception. You mustn´t listen to it. Whatever you might think right now, whatever makes you so desperate to turn to this voice, you must know that this is the way of the devil. To lure us into his realm. You must never fall for that. You might not see the light right now, but I assure you it is there.”

It felt strange. As if he wasn´t even inside his own body, when he looked at her. And she just stared at him, so mesmerized, and yet so defiantly.

“How do you know all this?” her voice was barely a whisper. “How do you know?”

And Javert realized that her question was no question. It was a demand. Give me a reason to believe you, it said. Give me a reason to even listen to what you have to say. What do you think you know, inspector?

“I know.” he said, swore. “I´ve been there. … I- … I stood on the same edge, just like you do, right now.”

Cosette glanced sideways, at the window in her back, just for a fleeting second.

“I was in the dark, and I saw no way out of it.” Javert kept talking and she just stared at him, tears finally rolling down her cheeks, while the rest of her face remained unmoved, yet so painful, it hurt to see it.

“This darkness is in all of us.” this voice that came from deep inside him, spoke. “It can find us, if we don´t watch out. You got pushed into it, and that shouldn´t have happened. I am deeply sorry for my part in this.” He held out his hand, the same way someone else had once held out a hand for him. “Can you forgive me?”

The scarcely contained pain in her face finally broke free. “Forgive you?” she cried as if he were crazy. “I was the one who almost killed you.”

Javert surprised himself, when he chuckled quietly at this. “It takes a lot more than that to kill me.” he told her. “Mademoiselle. Don´t take that personal but … you´re not the best marksman in the world.” He pointed at his shoulder, still bandaged, holding the sling. The place you wanted to get hit if you wanted to survive. Anyone else would have aimed deeper, closer to the heart. She hadn´t. He doubted that she´d aimed at all. “To be honest.” he said. “I´m surprised you hit me at all.”

For a moment she only stared at him, and her face had never looked more like a child than in this moment. And then she finally broke into laughter, startled, but grateful. It still sounded like sobs.

“I´m so sorry.” she managed at last, between those sobs.

“Don´t be.” he dared to take a step closer. “You tried to protect your father. And you were right to do so.” he looked down on her, and allowed himself a tiny smirk. “I guess we both know he has a tendency to get himself into trouble, he can´t get out of on his own. Hasn´t he?”

And once again Cosette laughed out, sniffling. “Yes.” she nodded. “Yes, he has.”

Javert was satisfied with this reaction. “It´s a good thing he has you to look out for him then.” he had chosen his words carefully. But not carefully enough as it seemed. Because all the sudden the suicidal girl was looking up at him, eyes totally serious. She seemed composed again, her tears forgotten. At least for now.

“And you.” she said, making him frown, startled.

“What?”

“He also has you now.” There was a hard edge in her tone, but the meaning was still unmistakable. Javert shook his head. 

“N – no, I …”

“Yes.” her voice was firm, and her gaze … her gaze was so fast on him, he almost felt the urge to back off. “I know who you are.” she told him. “Don´t think I wouldn´t know.” She shook her head regarding him closely. “You´re not as much of a demon as I used to believe.” she found, her voice soft as a distant thunder. But then she lowered her eyes, and the softness was gone again. “But I know who you are.” she repeated. “And what you did. To my mother. And him.”

Javert felt how he tensed under those accusing eyes. And then, yet again, her gaze softened, along with her voice.

“But you´re here.” she said, stating a mere fact. “Against all odds.” And after a moment of contemplation: “Maybe something wanted you to be here.”

She didn´t say: Not me, but something higher, a greater power that I can´t argue with.

And of course Javert heard it anyway, even in her silent stare. He knew. Of course he knew. And keeping his composure was not easy. Still he managed it. Somehow. He had to bring this to a good end.

After another moment he eventually could bring himself to reach out, and take her hand, firmly. 

He said: “And the same something wants you to stay in this world, Mademoiselle. There are people waiting for you. A fiance that is worried sick. A father that doesn´t know what to do with himself if it wasn´t for you. You can´t leave them behind like this. They´d be useless without you.” 

Cosette regarded him, silently for a moment, smiling ruefully, and he nodded at her. 

“Sometimes,” he said. “… staying alive and facing the battle is the braver decision … than to just lie down and die.”

And in this moment he knew who had been talking through him all this time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Marius did not know what had happened at Cosette´s place. Neither did he know that someone was already talking to her, or why. Coming here had not been his idea. His grandfather had taken him, in his carriage, insisting that he´d try to talk to his young fiance. That only trying and trying again could finally lead to the goal. And Marius, too weak in his heart to put up a fight, had come along, not really daring to hope for much.

The more did his heart leap, when he saw the other fiacre before the house, and Cosette´s father waiting there. Just as his grandfather´s carriage pulled up beside it, Cosette exited the house, led by no other than the man she´d feared and hated ever since this whole thing had started.

Marius could not believe his eyes. His love seemed content with this man´s presence all the sudden. 

She met her father, hugging him, and his smile was so grateful, so relieved that Marius could only begin to guess what must have happened before they came here. Monsieur Fauchelevant embraced Cosette, as if afraid to ever let her go again, speaking never ending thanks to the man who only stood beside them, watching like a bystander. And when at last he broke the hug, to look into his daughter´s eyes, something was between them, something unspoken, but yet so strong and grateful that even the guards standing aside the scene, must be able to feel it. 

Marius jumped out, onto the street, and Cosette´s eyes found him. The tears he saw were finally not made of sorrow anymore. But of happiness. Happiness to see him here. And the joy he felt when he realized this, was not to be compared to anything in the world.

He didn´t know what had happened, what had made this miracle possible. All he cared about was Cosette, and this warm embrace when she finally, finally fell into his arms again. Something he had barely dared to hope for, anymore.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The room was eerily silent. It lay in darker shadows than Javert would have ever believed it possible. Even darker than when he´d been here the first time, at night, his mind way darker than every shadow could have been. But in that night Marianne had been there, still so alive and her spirit had lit the room. Somehow she had been able to enlighten even the darkest night, with her beautiful mind. And just thinking of that now, in this eery silence of her place, was hurting him. Deep inside.

The blood had been washed away. The place was open to be rented anew. A vegetable store was supposed to open here soon. Life would go on. The world would keep turning. Even without her. 

Marianne.

As if she´d never been. A shadow fleeting across a surface, so quick you could miss it in the wink of an eye. But Javert had seen her. She had been there. She´d been real. Not a shadow, but a light, drowned within shadows, too powerful for her. And maybe he had been only one of them.

Yeah, maybe he´d been part of this darkness that had swallowed her. But if he had been she hadn´t blamed him. She still didn´t. He could feel that, as if she was still here, so close, that if he reached out a hand now, he would be able to touch her. 

Marianne.

He would always remember her. No matter how much time went by. The angel that had lived on earth, only for a while. Just long enough to save his pitiful life, and show him the way out of darkness. 

Marianne.

A name like any other. But not to him. Not to him.

He didn´t even realize that he had raised his hand, as if he really intended to touch something – something that was invisible before him – until the footsteps behind him brought him back to reality. He didn´t need to look at Valjean. He knew what he would see in his face. And maybe that was the reason why he couldn´t turn around to him, knowing that he would lose control after all, if he´d allow this man to touch his soul. Now from all the times in the world.

“Can …” he had to clear his throat before he could speak clearly. “Can your lawyer find out where her sister lives now?” he asked, and his voice was far less steady than he wanted it to be. “I´d like to tell them what happened to her personally.”

“Of course.” Valjean´s own voice was hoarse, as if he´d been the one who knew Marianne before she died. He stepped closer and finally Javert managed it to turn around and face him. 

There was something unspoken between them. A form of understanding that Javert had no name for. He doubted that Valjean knew how to call it.

“You know what she told me?” he broke the silence. “That nothing happens without a reason.” A new pain threatened to clutch his heart, and he shook his head. “But I see no reason. Not even now.”

“You´re alive.” Valjean objected. “You live to see another day. And make the world a better place because of it.”

Javert could only laugh about this. “Yeah, sure.”

“Maybe that is the reason.” Valjean insisted. “Don´t you think that this is possible? That Marianne could have been right? You already saved Cosette from her dark mind. The Javert you were ten years ago, wouldn´t have done that. Maybe you were forced through all of this, forced to stay alive even, to make up for the things you regret to have done.” He halted for a second, before he added, more quietly: “Maybe we both were.”

It was this last thing that made Javert frown, more than anything else. “You don´t have anything to regret.” he stated, matter of factly, but Valjean shook his head.

“I do. So many things. I´m not a saint, Javert. I´m just a man. And I have done many things wrong. I wish to make up for it.”

There was a confession hidden in there, somewhere, Javert knew that. And even though he wasn´t sure what kind of confession, those words alone gave him new hope. Maybe Valjean knew … what he didn´t know.

“How do you want to do that?” he asked, praying for an answer. Maybe if he told him, he finally would know how to do this. How to make up for his sins. If anyone would know, it was Valjean.

But once again Valjean shook his head, helplessly “I don´t know.” he took a breath, not noticing Javert´s disappointment. “But I will try.”

Javert looked into those eyes, so worn by the labors of life but yet so confident in the future. He looked at the sling that still held Valjean´s arm, so similar to his own – God, was it coincidence that their shot wounds matched almost perfectly? – and somehow he could see the hope this man held, for himself and the people around him, all in this one glimpse. In the way he stood, the way he smiled. And regarding him now, Javert could hear Marianne again, her voice sounding to him across the divide. As if she was calling for him, even now, from out of the grave.

Sometimes staying alive and keeping up the fight is the braver decision, inspector. It takes a lot more than to just lay down and die. A lot more.

He closed his eyes only for a second, to keep control over himself, at the sound of this voice.

“Maybe you´re right.” he managed at last. “24601.” 

He had never spoken those numbers the way he did it now, and even while he spoke them, he didn´t know for sure what his own tone truly meant. But Valjean seemed to know. 

“Maybe we both still have a chance after all.” Javert nodded. “Even now.” 

And facing the silent smile in his old foe´s face, Javert did something he´d never done with anyone, not with equals and not with subordinates, as far as he could remember. He offered Valjean his hand. 

The other man frowned, looking down on it, staring into his face as if he wasn´t sure what the gesture meant. And for a moment it looked as if he would not want to take it. Not ever. As if he was frozen by his own shock, forevermore.

Javert rolled his eyes. “Oh, Christ. Come on now, Valjean. I can´t hold it out for that long.”

Valjean flinched, only for a second. He didn´l look at the sling that held Javert´s arm. His eyes never left his. And Javert could see the change happen, from startled, to disbelieve, to amused, until at last he broke into a heartfelt smile. When their hands finally touched it was as if a lifelong spell had been broken. 

And no matter how ridiculous this thought might be, in this moment Javert just knew that somewhere above them, Marianne was at peace now. For now her mission was complete at last.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

If that was something to be grateful for, it was at least to be appreciated, that after months of trial and investigation, the case was closed at last on their behalf. Not that they had been forced through endless questionings (although there had been days it felt like that) or locked away like criminals. But just the shadow of this case that was still hanging over them, was quite enough to make them nervous, if not even paranoid. 

At least it was like that for him, Valjean. An ex convict who suddenly was on the other side. Helping the law instead of fleeing it. It was just weird. And strange. And wonderful. To know that he was not alone in this. Would never be alone again, to hide a knowledge so much greater than the case itself. And from so many.

In some way things were still the same. And yet, it was so different than before. Javert was not his shadow anymore, the danger that would chase him everywhere. Cosette now knew, knew everything. No secrets left between them evermore. 

Well …. almost none. 

He closed his eyes, savoring this thought one more time. No secrets. Not from those that really counted. It was a miracle. 

Alone the fact that they were here, alive and save and mostly sound. They were together, all of them. And that was all he really needed to know. It filled his heart with such a gratefulness that almost nothing could befoul this feeling. Almost.

He looked at Marius and his Cosette, chatting heartily outside in the garden. Their talks had gotten better with each passing day. Where they had talked of heavy stuff in the beginning, their subjects had diverged into the wedding yet again. The baron sure as hell, was more than willing to participate in all their planning.

Valjean sighed.

“You don´t like this all that much, do you?” Javert addressed this sound, regarding him with curiosity. The always present scrutiny of an inspector.

“I can´t keep her in a cage.” Valjean surprised himself when he smiled saying this. “She´s free, to live her life …” he shook his head. “Even without me. Who am I to keep her caged?”

Javert said nothing, only nodded, and even with this mocking smirk on his lips, Valjean felt glad to have him here. To have at least this one man standing by his side, in all of this, that would have left him all alone, had things been different. How strange that it was this man, from all in the world. Heaven, sometimes God had a strange sort of humor.

“Excuse me, gentlemen.” Toussaint addressed him, startling the ex police man, by coming out of nowhere. “There is a visitor for the two of you.”

“Both?” Valjean stopped chuckling.

“Yes. He says he is a friend of yours.”

And at this, with sudden certainty, Valjean knew who it was, before he even entered.

“Gentlemen.” Vidocq gave them a little bow. “I´m glad to see you´re doing well.”

“Eugene.” Valjean replied, politely nodding. “To what do we owe the honor?”

The eloquent man became a little stiff at the question, even though his smile never vanished.

“You read the papers, I presume.” he started. “About my … retirement?”

“I´m sorry.” Valjean offered but the smaller man just shook his head, waving a hand.

“It was always my risk, playing in this league. And sneaking my way back in by solving a staged robbery could only last for so long.”

“I knew it.” Javert suddenly barked, making Valjean flinch. “I read about that case. I always knew that you were in on that. I had no proof but … I just knew it.”

Vidocq only smiled, shamelessly, and shrugged a shoulder. “Sometimes there are sacrifices that have to be made, to serve the greater good.” he lectured the former inspector but of course Javert would not agree.

“Getting yourself back on the payroll is serving the greater good?” he asked, stridently, and once again Vidocq did not falter.

“If it helps to solve crimes like this latest, I´d say so. Wouldn´t you, inspector?”

Valjean lay a hand on Javert´s arm, before he could give an even sharper response, and Vidocq instantly used the break to continue.

“Anyway, I´m thanking God that I was never the one to linger in the past. Gentlemen. I´m here to make a suggestion.” He reached into his inner pocket, eloquently. “I already made plans to move on from here. My men are still loyal, but I could always need more.”

He offered a small card to Javert, who refused stubbornly to even reach out for it. So Valjean took it.

“More?”

“More good men. You two seemed to have worked well together, so I was wondering if you would like a job. To be quite frank, your talents would be wasted in a factory, inspector.”

Valjean searched the gaze of the other man, but Javert would not say a word.

“What kind of job would that be?” he therefor asked for both of them.

“That depends entirely on the case we´d get.” Vidocq shrugged. “Take this last case as an example and you get the idea.”

“You want me to join your bunch of criminals?” Javert finally spoke.

“Ex-criminals.” Vidocq corrected, mildly. “And let´s be honest, Javert. This is exactly what you are now.”

This time it was Javert who searched Valjean´s gaze. There was something resigned in his eyes. We become what we fear. Indeed, we do.

“It´s an offer.” Vidocq repeated. “I never forced any of my men to break the law. Neither did I expect them to keep it like a dogma. You´d be totally free in your actions. As long as you can confirm it with your conscience.”

“To do what we can, for the right reasons.” Valjean offered, raising his brows at Javert. “It could be worth thinking about it.”

“Just as I said.” Vidocq seemed satisfied already. “You don´t have to decide now. Send me a note. You´ll reach me at this address.” He pointed at the card again, just before placing his hat back on his head, raising his finger to the brim. “Gentlemen.”

And with that he was gone.

Valjean looked after him, watching Javert curiously from the corner of his eye. “What do you think?” he asked, and Javert snorted.

“I´d rather keep that to myself.” The ex police man turned around, his gaze on Valjean, significantly but silent, before he finally walked away.

Valjean chuckled. He read the card in his hand, smiling lightly to himself.  
Yes, it definitely would be worth thinking about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For all of you who care, there is a sequel, called “Sometimes you Lose – Reason to Die”. So if you´re interested to see how this continues, feel free to check it out.
> 
> And for the few of you who´re interested in how this story came about in the first place, you can to read my author´s note. Right next door. Just in case you were wondering too: What the hell was she thinking?
> 
> To all the others, I have only one last thing to say. It was a blast and thanks for reading.


	20. Author´s Note

Hello, again. For one last time. Or maybe not? We´ll see about that later. First let´s get back to the story that´s already finished, shall we?  
How the hell did this happen? 

Well, simple. I got the movie. I watched it. Found it good enough. Rewatched it. And in time, before I even noticed it myself, I was caught. At some point I (obviously) started to wonder what could have been if things had ended differently. Not all of it, but some minor (or not so minor) details. Like (who would have guessed it) Javert´s death. 

Aren´t there many of us who wished there´d been another way? I began wondering how this way could have looked like. You read what I came up with. Not much originality here. There were two, already well explored ways, that many fanfic writers had done times and times before me. He either gets stopped by Valjean (I considered that briefly but dismissed it – he would have rather caused an even faster jump if he´d been there) or by someone else. That this someone should be a strange woman is also something that has been done before, but it seemed to be the only scenario that wanted to be told, so I had no choice. 

Everything else really developed from that point.

Let me go far afield a little more at this point. Before I even started thinking about writing a story of my own, I had read one, on this very site, that was very intriguing and I can only recommend it to everyone who enjoys the pairing of Javert and Valjean as the characters that they are. It was the story “Tale of Two Men” which was sadly never finished. But the characterization of both Javert and Valjean in this story, just had me in awe, plus it features a murder case the two of them got involved with. 

After I finished reading the last posted chapter of this story, I was tempted to contact the author, and ask for permission to pick up her plot and finish it for her, since she had clearly stated that she wouldn´t do it anymore. But the plot was too complex and the historical details she had put into it, kinda discouraged me. I´d never been good with stories that played in the past, where people did not have cell phones or say at least guns that can shoot more than once before you have to reload. Seriously. How to write an action shooting scene with guns that can not shoot repeatedly? It´s impossible, right? Well, that´s at least what I thought. Which was, because I almost didn´t even start writing. 

But as it is with all obsessions, sometimes you cannot get away from them. I tried, but the idea just wouldn´t leave me. If you can´t write someone else´s story, write your own, it kept telling me. What would it be like? Hm? Just try to imagine.

And what can I say? I did. And what you just read was the result. 

Marianne was the first one to come in. It was a challenge to write her, and not let her become a Marie Susette, as one of my reviewers called it so eloquently (that one still has me laughing – Mary Sue indeed) Her only purpose, at least when I started, was to get Javert off the bridge. But somehow I knew that her role would be bigger than that. Unfortunately I also knew that this role of hers, would get her killed very soon in the story.

I wanted something interesting, something that would tie to the events before the bridge. I was watching a lot of 24 while writing this story, so you can easily call that show my main inspiration for the plot. Political thriller that is not really political. Life threats wherever you send the characters and no one can be trusted. Marianne turned out to be the key to the whole plot, even after she had died. 

For everyone who lost track of her story, here a brief summary. She was Lecomte´s girlfriend, unsuspecting of what he was involved with, and when she found out by total chance, she went to an old friend of her dead father: the general that happened to be Javert´s old mentor. He asked her to spy for him and to have an eye on Javert as well, because Javert was the only one he could trust in all of this. And that is how the poor guy got involved in this plot, and why she could save his life in the first place. Because it had not been coincidence that she passed the bridge that night. At least not completely.

Anyway, this is how it all came together. How it went down, how it ended. Javert might not have been happy about her showing up and interrupting his rendezvous with death, but in the end he fought for his life again. Especially after her death. I found it quite fascinating how Marianne stayed in the story even after I killed her. She was one of the main reasons why Javert did all the things that he did. Because he wanted revenge. 

By the way, the chemistry between him and Marianne was something I didn´t plan or even foresee. All I wanted was some sort of understanding between them. When Marianne started telling him how she knew what he was going through (and that too came from her, not me) it became more though. I guess he fell a little in love with her, and who knows, if she hadn´t died, they might have been something. But she did die and so we´ll never know. 

Valjean´s involvement in the plot was a given of course. Of course I wanted them to work together, and of course I sent him this way, so they would meet up by “coincidence”. But that was truly all I had to do. As soon as I had them in a room together, forced to fight for their lives side by side, my task was done. Everything that came after that, came from these two guys. Sometimes there are characters that do all the work for you, and in this case, that´s exactly what they did. I seriously only had to sit back and watch them do their thing. Every time they were in a scene together I just let them talk and wrote down what they gave me. None of this came from me. So if any of you commented me on how well I wrote them, all I can say is this: It wasn´t me. Thanks a lot, but I can´t take credit for it. All the credit goes to Valjean and Javert (or maybe Jackman and Crowe, however you prefer it).

I´d never write a character in a way that would make the character do or be anything the character doesn´t want to be. If I´d try to force them to do anything against their nature, they´d downright refuse to work for me. So everything that happened in this story, to these guys or between them, was entirely their choice, and could only happen because they wanted it.

Same thing goes for Cosette by the way. She was a real treat I can tell you this. Let me start at the beginning once again.

What had always bugged me about Cosette, in other fanfics that I´d read was this: She never had much of a personality. She always comes as this totally unknowing innocent girl, that had no idea what is going on. If she meets Javert (usually Javert and Valjean have met up already at this point of the stories) she never has any idea who he is. She automatically assumes that he and her Papa are old friends, and the two of them, not wanting to destroy her innocent view on the world, even play along with that. 

Sorry, but that really rubs me the wrong way. 

The kid was not a toddler anymore, when Javert chased them through the night, so of course she would remember something. And on that day in the street when he intervened and practically saved Valjean from Thenadiere, she saw him too. 

So I allowed her some awareness, about who Javert was and about the threat he represented. And once again that was all I had to do. The rest developed from there. Her mind was much darker than I expected it to be, I can tell you. I surely knew that something would come from this, in the end of the story, but I had no idea what it would be until I was there. 

What I liked though, was the fact that it was Javert who would bring her back around. It was a nice way of coming full circle at the end of the story, when he did for her practically the same thing Marianne had done for him, when it all began. 

So there you see. All the characters had their own journey in this story and bringing it to a satisfying end is always tricky. I liked the idea of finishing with an open end. One that promises an interesting future for Valjean and Javert. Or at least … leaving it open was the idea. By now it is not quite as open anymore.

Sometimes when you tell yourself you will write a story, just for fun, and that it doesn´t have to be big (just like four or five chapters or so and it will be all right) the story has other plans. And when you´re done writing it, you suddenly feel as if it was over too fast. So I kept asking myself … is there another story in it? Maybe? And if so, what would it be like? Just try to imagine … 

Well, what can I say? I did. And what I saw didn´t look all too bad. I guess there could be another story in it. 

So maybe we´ll see each other again. Next time? Until then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you made it through all of this and are still here – respect. You can still share your opinion with me. Or suggest what to do better next time.
> 
> Aside from that, hope you´re all well. And thanks for reading.


End file.
